Into The Terrible Night
by Miss Biz R
Summary: Bane liked to play with his food before he ate it. And there was nothing sweeter than a young mother who would do anything to protect her daughter. Crime/Angst/Romance
1. Chapter 1: Excellent Play Indeed

_**Edit:**_

_This is fanfiction. I shouldn't even have to do this, since basically everyone who writes fanfiction knows that they won't make any money off of this. But, because I am a cowardly slime who doesn't want to get sued, I figured I ought to put in a disclaimer. Now listen up, 'cos I'm only saying this once, kiddies. _

**_Sarah _**_and **Tori **belong to me, along with their posessions, emotions, thoughts, relations, and backstories. **Bane** belongs to DC Comics, along with **Batman**, **Robin**, and any other recognizable character. However, **The Dark Knight Trilogy **belongs to Christopher Nolan, Syncophy, and any other respective owners. I will not make any profit from this story; everything you see written here is made for entertainment purposes only._

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**Chapter One: Excellent Play Indeed**

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It was dangerous to go out at night.

Gotham had changed so horribly in the past month, twisting radically from a time of relative peace to this chaotic monstrosity. Outside of her thin apartment door, she could hear the riots going on – explosions, screams, gunshots, and other noises of anarchy she couldn't identify. Nobody went out at night anymore, not if they wanted to keep themselves alive. The only people who roamed around after dark were the loosely organized army of Bane, and they caused more damage during the night than during the day. She swallowed hard and peeked out through the blinds which had been shuttered for weeks now, and closed her eyes. Her neighborhood was eerily quiet; during this time of night, there should have been kids outside on bikes, hoodlums marking territory, men staggering home from bars. But it was drained of people, empty of life, and she felt as though everything she knew around her was slowly bleeding to death.

She combed her greasy hair back in a ponytail and tucked it into her hoodie, pulling the hood up over her face. The danger was tripled to women everywhere, no matter the time of day; rumors had been floating around that women were cutting their hair and scarring their faces, trying to look uglier and attract less attention. Other women still were hunkering down with their families in basements, allowing their husbands to do all the heavy lifting and risk their lives. Sarah didn't have a husband or a brother to go out and get groceries, so she had been going around with her hood drawn and moving as quickly as possible.

Tonight was different. Tonight, they had to move.

The lower-class neighborhood they lived in was relatively untouched; it was the wealthy most of the rebels had been going after. But ransacking mansions could only buy so much distraction, and there was talk of the army moving through other streets. She couldn't risk getting her apartment demolished, not while they were still in it. She disregarded their scant belongings – very little mattered to her now. They needed to get out of here before the mobs started getting bored with the mansions. If there was still a God, she could make it to the shelters they had erected around the city. Thousands of people were moving there, and that seemed to be the safest place. If there was such a thing as a safer place these days.

Sarah hurried from the living room to the little bedroom she shared with her daughter. "Tori," She whispered. "Victoria, c'mon, wake up."

Her daughter was awake in an instant, her big glassy eyes alert and focused. Sarah doubted Tori had been sleeping much these past few weeks, and judging from how the sheets were twisted, she hadn't been sleeping very well now. "Are they coming?" Tori asked, her voice cracked and exhausted, even though she was practically vibrating with adrenaline. "Are they here?"

"No, no, sweetie," Sarah smoothed her daughter's tangled brown hair away from her forehead. "We're going to move. I'm going to take us to the shelter downtown, okay? Let's get your shoes on."

"Why are we leaving now?" Tori asked, wiggling her tiny feet into her pink shoes and pasting the velcro strap across her foot.

"Because nobody will expect us out at night," Sarah said truthfully. "If we're lucky, we can make it in only a few minutes. Remember where it is? It's by the library. It doesn't take that long to get to the library, right?"

The six year old blinked solemnly at her mother. "Will they catch us?" She asked flatly.

Tears bit at Sarah's eyes, and she sniffed as quietly as she could. "I hope not."

The two girls hurried out into the kitchen and Sarah swung her ratty beige backpack over her shoulder. It had the last of their food, some paper, and two bottles of water. Water was the price of admission in the shelters, seeing as they were running dangerously low. Sarah looked at her determined young daughter and nearly burst into tears at how serious she was. Dark circles were tugging beneath her eyes, and her skin was deathly pale. They were both skinnier than they had been when everything first started, seeing as food was low. "Victoria," Sarah said, dropping to her knees in front of her daughter, "Listen to me. If something happens...if they catch us...I want you to run. Okay? Run, and don't you dare look back. Find someplace to hide and I'll come for you."

There was a long silence as Tori's sleep-deprived mind tried to make sense of it. "Promise?" She asked finally.

Sarah hugged her daughter tightly, nearly crushing her to her chest. "I'll try, I promise you that," Sarah whispered into her daughter's hair. "Now we need to go."

The air was brutally cold, and snow was drifting down from the black skies in fat flakes. Every streetlight was out, and there were no cars on the streets. Far off, the sound of tumblers crunched through the snow, and Sarah spotted one of the camouflaged tanks rolling lazily down the street. If they were patrolling this close to the Narrows, then war was definitely on the horizon for her little neighborhood. Sarah wanted to pick Victoria up, but thought better of it at the last moment. People would know she was a mother if that happened. Sarah tugged her hoodie a little more over her face and they set off for the downtown area.

They passed demolished homes, destroyed cars, and carcasses. Sarah made sure to steer Tori away from the dead bodies, swallowing back bile and shuddering at the sight of the grotesquely twisted necks and old bloodstains. She didn't need her daughter scarred any more than she already was. They trotted swiftly across the streets, using crosswalks even though it didn't matter in the slightest any more, and Sarah began to get nervous. They hadn't seen a single living soul on the streets, save for one or two people sprawled in the road, either too drunk or too in pain to move. A nearby explosion made Victoria shriek in panic, and she clamped down on Sarah's leg. Sarah clenched her jaw and held her daughter close, throwing caution to the winds and scooping her daughter up.

It seemed to take forever to walk to Main Street from where they lived. On good days, nice days, not like this horrible winter night, they would journey up to the library on the corner and check out books. It was a twenty minute walk for them in good weather, but half-starved, exhausted, and trudging through unplowed snow, it seemed to take much longer. The only relief from the snow was the packed tracks that the big tanks made as they cruised around the streets, and Sarah gratefully walked on those. Her back was starting to ache from the heavy backpack and her shoulder was complaining from carrying her daughter, but Sarah avoided thinking about how cold and tired she was starting to feel. Where was that damned library?

"Going somewhere, beautiful?"

The voice was raspy and sounded slurred, and Sarah whirled around at the sound. He was a tall, lanky man with loose black hair and ugly, scarring blisters around his mouth and nose. She had seen that look before on people; it was a sign of someone who sniffed paint thinner or nail polish. She clutched her daughter close to her one last time, and then let her slide down onto the ground. "Going for a walk," Sarah said, trying to sound more strident and fearless than she felt. Her knees were shaking, and her stomach had tied itself in a knot; her heart banged against her ribcage. "Is that against the law now?" Sarah demanded.

"There's no law anymore," The man wheezed, grinning and exposing brown teeth. "Not for you and me."

"I don't want trouble," Sarah said, and her voice started to change as her throat grew tighter.

"Too bad," The man laughed. "You got it."

"Victoria," Sarah panted, "Run."

The six-year-old looked up at her mother with stricken eyes, and took a stumbling step away from her, when a shot cracked through the air. The addict convulsed, and fell to the ground, blood seeping onto the dirty snow. Sarah screamed and threw herself into the snow, taking her daughter with her, expecting more gunshots. There was a spatter of answering fire from a block over, and then she heard the snow crunching. Someone – _several_ someones – were walking towards them.

"What you doin' out at night?" A voice asked above her, sounding halfway interested in spite of himself. Sarah scrambled to her feet and pushed Tori roughly behind her. The man was stocky, and he looked Middle Eastern, with thick black brows and pockmarked brown skin. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, and he cocked his head at the mother and child. There was something glimmering in his eyes, something she didn't like or recognize.

"We're moving," Sarah whispered, struggling to find her voice. "We're trying to reach the shelter."

"What's your name?" He asked with his heavy accent, and he took a step closer. Sarah backed up automatically, and Tori squeaked in alarm when she bumped against another man behind them. Sarah turned, and paled at the sight of the four other men, all bearing semi-automatic guns, and looking at her with wolfish expressions.

"Leave us alone!" Sarah screamed, her voice coming back in a rush. "Leave us the hell alone!"

"I just saved your life," The man continued, almost conversationally. It was then that Sarah recognized the glint in his eye – insanity. "You could repay the favor."

"I don't...want..." Sarah felt as though her head was going to explode if she didn't scream. "Go away!"

One of the men seized Tori's upper arm and yanked her away from Sarah.

The young mother didn't even think about how to react – she slipped her bag off her shoulder and sent it smashing against the soldier's face. He shouted in pain and grabbed the bag as Sarah drew back for a second blow, but she kicked him hard between the legs and ripped the bag back. Two other men converged on her, grabbing her by the wrists and pulling her away, and it was then that Tori began to scream. The young child ran, screaming without stopping for breath, and skidded on the snow. Tori fell face first onto the wet ice, but picked herself up as quickly as possible. Tears were streaming down her face, and she bolted for someplace to hide, anywhere away from those men, and hid behind a mailbox. Fearfully, she peeked out from behind it and saw the men tearing at her mother's jacket, ripping through the material. Her mother was thrashing, kicking out at anything she could reach, and Tori bit her wrist to keep herself from sobbing.

She heard his mechanized breathing first.

"Is that your mother, little one?"

His voice was almost a wheeze – raspy and guttural, punctured by the regular intake of breath, and Tori stared at him with huge eyes. He was a monster of a man, taller and broader than anything she had ever seen, with sharply hewn muscles bulging against the confines of his sheepskin jacket. His face, oh, his face was covered by a menacing metal mask which was obviously helping him talk, but it was the most horrifying thing Tori had ever seen. This was a man she had seen in all her dreams, this was the terrible monster who picked her out from the crowd and cracked her mother's skull in all of her nightmares. Night after night she saw this man in her dreams, always with that awful black mask covering his face. He was huge, bigger than she remembered him, and he was staring down at her like he was standing on a skyscraper. Intelligent gray eyes glared down at her, fierce and curious, and Tori knew that if she didn't move or scream, she never would. She had _seen_ this man before, seen him at the football game her mother had taken her to – he had snapped a man's neck with one hand, effortlessly, like it was a twig.

"Yes," Tori croaked, pressing herself so hard against the mailbox she felt the metal nubs digging into her back.

"And you are going to let her die?" He asked, gripping the lapels of his jacket. She saw grenades belted to his waist, and there was blood on his clunky boots.

Tori ran then, ran away from him, ran towards her mother, just _ran_. "_Mom_!" She shrieked, and to her utter amazement all of the soldiers stopped trying to hurt her mother. They all spread apart, leaving her mother bleeding and choking on the ground in the snow, nervously looking at Tori. The little girl didn't even try to wonder why the men were listening to her, but she stumbled next to her mother, still crying. Sarah was barely conscious, and there was a large gash on her head, and her jacket was in shreds. The loose jeans she had been wearing were down around her thighs, and she was twitching numbly. "_Mommy!_" Tori sobbed, shaking her mother. "Mommy, wake up!"

"Your spoils must be growing thin if you're accosting children in the street," Bane said, his regulated voice suddenly louder than the world. "Are you so weary of your loot already, my brothers?"

"We..." The Middle Eastern man started, and then cleared his throat uncomfortably, breathing hard. "We were patrolling, Bane, and we came across them." He seemed to grow more confident at Bane's silence. "You said any woman in the city was ours, Bane."

"And so they are," Bane rumbled, and Tori knew what was going to happen a second before it did. She squeezed her eyes shut and clung to her mother, turning her head away. There was a hideous crunch, and some tiny gurgle, then the man dropped into the snow heavily. Bane flexed his fingers, and Tori shuddered. "Every woman in the city is yours...save the ones I claim for my own."

The men scattered into the wind, leaving the body of their leader behind. Bane looked down at the mother, who was struggling to see with one eye crusted shut with blood. "You have a choice," He said, almost sounding bored. "Stay here, and leave my protection, or come with me."

Sarah coughed and tried to sit up, even though it felt as though her head was going to implode. Everything was blurred, and her hearing hadn't yet popped back into place. "G-go to hell," She rasped.

"My offer of protection was not to you," Bane said flatly. "It was to your daughter."

Tori looked up with huge eyes. "Help my mommy," She whimpered.

Bane wordlessly scooped up Sarah, throwing her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing, and Tori trailed along behind them fearfully. Bane's huge hand kept Sarah in place, and as they walked boldly down the middle of the road, Bane began to smile beneath his mask. His gray eyes flared.

All work and no play made Jack a dull boy. And this mother and daughter would make some excellent play indeed.

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_Authors Note: So, um, yeah. I recently watched TDKR, and WOW. What an incredible villain. This is only the beginning, I hope, and I know Bane's not terribly in character, but I do hope to rectify that in later chapters. I got pretty tired of all the Bane/OC's turning him into a mushy little teddy bear, when...he's not. He's really, really not. _

_Anyway, please leave a review and tell me what you think! More reviews = quicker update! :D_


	2. Chapter 2: Playthings

**Chapter Two: Playthings**

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She never lost consciousness, not really.

Sarah remembered hearing Tori crying the entire time, and each time her child drew breath to sob her heart broke a little more. She remembered straining her eyes in the darkness, outstretching her hands to try and connect with her in some way, but a bump or a jostle would shake her head, and the pain would blind her again. During these periods she was incredibly dizzy and light-headed, while blood continued to cake on her temple and form a crust over one eye, and while her vision obscured she began to fear for her own life. It was the first time she consciously remembered fearing for herself other than her daughter, but it was a short lived moment of selfishness, as Tori was still sobbing and begging their captor to help her, help her mommy, please. It was the most horrific thing Sarah had ever listened to, indeed, the most horrific thing any other mother could listen to: the sound of their child crying inconsolably, and being helpless to calm them.

Every time she struggled, that giant hand would flatten her against him more harshly, and she would feel her ribs groaning under the weight. Her mind drifted away from logical reasoning – who was carrying her? That metallic rasp of breath reminded her every time she forgot, and she would jerk awake and struggle, small groans escaping from her mouth. Bane, he was carrying her. He was the terrorist, the one who held Gotham captive, and she was being carried over his shoulder as though her one-thirty weight was nothing to him. Eventually, all sound drifted away except the clanging of pipes and that awful breathing mask; even the sound of Tori's crying disappeared, and this frightened her even more. Her baby, what had happened to Victoria? Where was she?

Finally, she found some sort of strength to pull through. There was cooling pain right next to her mind, and she winced at the sudden nearness. The stinging increased, and the clot of blood over her eye was peeled away. Blinking furiously, she gasped for breath as though she had breached through the darkness, only to discover there was nothing but drowning, suffocating darkness all around her. The dark had never bothered her before, but with only the sound of that raspy breathing and the rough swabbing of her face, she felt the first clawing of fear through her belly.

"Tori," Sarah whimpered. "Vic-Victoria, is that you?"

"No."

She would have screamed aloud at that voice, so deep and mechanical, except she couldn't see him. Sarah couldn't see the flat, passionless dark eyes or the gaping maw of a mask obscuring his face. She could _feel_ him, feel his heat next to her, but she couldn't see him. She couldn't see the huge hands, powerful enough to crush a man's neck with one surge of muscle, so near to her face, but she could feel his callouses scraping over her temple. Her breath came in short, stuttering gasps, and she clenched the sides of the chair she was sitting on.

"Where is she?" Sarah demanded hoarsely, "What did you do with her?"

"Your daughter is far from here," Bane replied, standing and crossing the room. He didn't move very far, and Sarah could hear the scuff of his boots against cold concrete. Already her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she could see the outline of his gigantic form – he was truly massive, one sheer building of brutality. He dominated the room, and she pressed herself deeper into the chair, her instinct to flee overriding her mind momentarily. "And she will remain so, unless you convince me otherwise." He rasped.

"Please," Sarah begged, "Please, please, I'll give you anything! I'll do anything, just _give me my daughter_!"

"You have nothing I desire," Bane said, sounding disinterested. In fact, she had quite a bit he desired, and she was giving most of it right now. Her desperation, her pleading, the begging, it was like new champagne – sweet, light, bubbly, and almost musical. He smelled her sweat, her unwashed body, and it pleased him. The fact that she had so much to give right now meant there was so many other emotions to extract from beneath the surface with his arsenal of psychological weaponry.

"If you don't give me my daughter –" Sarah began, a sob catching in her throat, "I will kill you, I swear to God."

The _threats_. Ah, yes, those were familiar. First the begging, then the offering, and then the threats. He was bored with threats, seeing as he had heard enough of them in the past few years. "An attempt like that would be foolhardy," Bane promised truthfully. "And it would be your daughter who received the punishment, not you."

Her wild animal scream was gilded with madness. "_What do you want from me?_ I'll do anything! Please! Just don't hurt my daughter, oh God, please don't, I will _fucking kill you_ –"

She half-rose from the chair, discovered she was unshackled, and tried to pounce. In the dark, and with her head wound, it was a pathetic attempt to claw his eyes out, if she could even reach them. He flicked on the light switch and watched her recoil in surprise, blinking as she attempted to dispel the white spots dancing in her vision. She was so young, quite young to have a daughter half-grown, and he liked seeing the tears streaked on her face. She stumbled, hitting the wall, and glared at him with such hatred and ferocity that he was almost surprised into moving forward to challenge her automatically; at the last moment, he shifted his weight away from her and caught himself. He wasn't here to punish, but to _enjoy_, and instruct. He had done this often enough with men; it would be a new plaything to him to break a woman.

Easily, he tossed her a dry rag. It fell on her lap, and she never took her eyes from his face, as though searching for some sort of human compassion. "There's water in the corner," Bane said slowly, "and you may bathe."

"If you think I'm going to just _wash myself_ without seeing my daughter –"

Bane started towards the door.

"All right! No, please, don't hurt her! I'll do it, please!"

_Good girl. You learn quickly._

She went tentatively, unsteadily towards the bathtub in the corner, and turned on the hot water tap. Sarah didn't expect any heated water, and she was right – it was frigidly cold, and just touching the rusted tap made her shiver. A glance at the impassive Bane confirmed her suspicions, and she peeled off her shredded jacket with some difficulty. Trembling with pain and fear, she stripped hastily and dropped into the tub, hissing at the freezing water and at the goose bumps exploding across her skin. There wasn't a bar of soap, regular paper-wrapped bar of Ivory soap by God, something she hadn't seen since before the war on Gotham, and she started to scrub herself. Bane stood silently, watching her every move, and she felt a blush crawling over her cheeks despite the cold. She washed herself haphazardly, quickly, and turned away from him as much as possible, crouching low in the bathtub.

"Face me."

He didn't want to see her body, he could have cared less about that, but he _did _want to see the humiliation on her face, and the rage. The anger he was tired of, but the fear and rapidity to obey never lost their flavor for him. It took her all of five minutes to strip most of the dirt from herself, and she wrapped herself in her tee shirt before she stood up. That gaze never left her face, which terrified her – if he had been enjoying his forced free show, then she could have dealt with that. But he hadn't been checking her out, he had been drinking in her humiliation, and she was afraid. "Please," She croaked, "Please let me see Tori."

"In good time," Bane said, and opened the door. Her agonized scream of pained anger drowned out the clicking of the lock on the door.

* * *

He opened the door to his bedroom and glanced around the place. His men wouldn't dare enter this inner sanctum of his, not when he had ordered them not to cross the threshold. They loved him, in that fierce, lawless way that all lost boys love their savior. The occasional reprimand to his soldiers was usually fatal, but it strengthened their respect for him. Bane closed the door behind him and enjoyed the gloom. Darkness always felt familiar to him, especially in this sparse room, where he called home. It reminded him of the cell in The Pit, and no matter how desperately he had tried to escape that insanity, it had come back to him in the end. One couldn't escape utter blackness, and in the end, he had stopped running and turned to embrace it fully. Talia had helped him see that, had helped him seek the bruised side of revenge. The kind of revenge that was messy and satisfying, but could never end well. Some part of him still realized that he would die in his quest to be cloaked in the night, but wasn't that the most heroic of ways? Dying the way he was born.

Lost in his inner musings, Bane pulled off his sheepskin coat and dropped it on the floor. His body armor followed, piece by piece, and he unlaced his boots as well. Untucking his pants from his combat boots, he toed off the boots one at a time, and then sat on his bed. As he pulled his shirt off, he felt the heavy ridge of scars down his back, and as always he followed them with absent fingers. Deep scars, ones that still twinged when he removed the mask. The mask was the only thing keeping his pain at bay, and without it, he would have been crippled before minutes had expired.

A muffled squeak beneath his bed removed his absentness, and automatically his body twitched towards the intruder. A split second later, his reflexes subsided as he remembered who he had deposited in his room before securing a cell downstairs for his new pigeon. The little girl was evidently under his bed, and he languidly pulled a boot knife from his shoes and began to play with the blade. "Come out." He ordered.

There was a small sneeze, and then silence. Bane remained still, half-wondering whether or not the girl would obey him, and then the girl wriggled out from beneath the cramped space. She was filthier than her mother, but her baby fat hadn't yet been starved away; yet her innocence, the kind that usually shrouded toddler's faces, was gone. Her dark brown eyes regarded him with a mixture of fear and shock, but not fear without knowledge. She knew who she was looking at – it was the same way Talia used to look at him.

"Thank you," Tori mumbled. "For saving my mom. Is she okay?"

"That all depends on you," Bane said, continuing to run the blade of his boot knife around his fingers. He preferred his hands when it came to killing somebody, it was quicker and less messy, but blades had their place. Guns were just too fast. "If you obey me, your mother will not suffer."

Tori pondered this for a moment, and then trembled convulsively. "Can I see her?"

"No."

After another second's consideration, Tori dropped to her knees and squeezed back under the bed. This time, he let her stay there, and merely rolled over to get some sleep.

Tori curled in a tight ball near the opposite edge of the bed, her back against the wall. It was a mistake coming here, she knew that, and she had to be a very good girl, otherwise Bane would...Bane would hurt her mommy. She made sense of that in her mind, organized it into childish little boxes. She had to do what he said, and her mommy would be okay. If she was a bad girl, he would hurt her. Tori cried, but quietly this time, because her daddy used to say that crying was something only babies did, and she was a big girl. Bane might get bored of a little girl, and she wanted him to think she was grown up. So Tori sniffed as quietly as she could and wiped her eyes on her damp knees, wishing for something warmer than wet jeans and a damp sweatshirt. She wanted her mom, a blanket, and maybe some TV.

But she did take some comfort being under the bed. Being under the bed meant that Bane couldn't spring out from underneath hers.

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_Author's Note: And there we have it, Bane is now officially back in character! :) I'd like to thank you all for your wonderful reviews, you've inspired me to chug out this chapter with RECORD SPEED! I've never updated this quickly before! Maybe it'll be a trend...Let's find out! Leave another review! :D_


	3. Chapter 3: Accelerated Manipulation

**Chapter Three: Accelerated Manipulation**

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_Fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight._

It was fifty eight steps to the opposite end of her prison cell, and seventy feet lengthwise. Sarah had paced them relentlessly for over two hours now, exhausted from her relentless screaming and attempts to break down the door. Her shoulder was mottled with bruising from her sledgehammering against the thick door, and her throat was raw from her useless pleadings for help. She was certain now that there wasn't anyone coming to rescue her, and if anything, the people she heard moving around outside were enjoying her performance. The thought nauseated her, and she slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Breathing heavily, she tilted her head back and tried to find some scrap of hope that her daughter was alive. Bane could be torturing her right now, or something far worse, and Sarah had to clamp down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming out again.

There was a cross around her neck – she had forgotten she still wore it, and Sarah fingered the beaten gold symbol numbly. It had been given to her six and a half years ago, when Victoria was born, and she had engraved her daughter's name onto the back of it. Now, she gripped it tightly in her fist until the dull edges began to cut into her hand, and prayed. She hadn't prayed in years, but she prayed now, and prayed hard. _Please_, she begged to the ceiling, _please have Victoria be all right. I don't care what happens to me, but please, get Tori out of this. Amen._

It didn't make her feel any better, but she was able to release the cross around her neck.

Sarah stood shakily and sniffed, scuffing her wrist across her mouth. She had tucked her recently-washed hair into her shirt and tied her torn jacket around her waist. It was freezing down here in whatever hellish cellar Bane had dumped her in, and there was little sound besides the continuous movement of people outside and the dripping of the faucet. She had been given a small cot with no sheets and one thin blanket, an old enamel tub, and a single light bulb with a dangling chain. Other then that, she had smooth concrete floors and gritty, slightly damp walls green with mold. Everything smelled musky and old, and the temperature was low enough to see her breath forming crystals in front of her.

She was still light headed, but she resumed pacing, limping a little because of her busted left side. Again and again she had thrown herself at that door, but it hadn't yielded. There must have been a board across it holding it in place, or it was a lot thicker than she thought. Worse, there wasn't a keyhole, so she couldn't even attempt to steal a key from somewhere – there was just a thick bolt, judging from the rattling. Sarah tried to calm herself, and folded her arms together across her stomach. It had been over twelve hours since she had eaten last, and she hoped desperately that Tori wasn't somewhere, just as cold and just as hungry.

Abruptly, the bolt slid back with no warning, and she jumped. As the door swung open, she heard the deep, raspy, mechanical breathing of her captor and tormentor. Sarah bunched her torn nylon jacket in her hands and tried to disappear into the shadows. He dominated the room once he was inside, seeing as he was easily the biggest thing there, and even though everything was mostly dark she could see his dark eyes sweep the shadows as though he saw her clearly. He probably did; rumor had it that he liked to prowl the streets at night. Obviously, since that was where Tori had met him. At the thought of her daughter, her stomach clenched.

"Where's my daughter?" Sarah whispered hoarsely, her voice shot from screaming.

He didn't even bother to answer, merely gripped the thick straps of his armor and waited. He was _huge_, all bulked up with his armor and sheepskin coat with the collar turned up, but even without these things she could see the powerful build, along with the broad shoulders, the deep chest, all sleeking down to a solid waist and strong legs. His hands were in plain sight, and although they seemed clean enough, she remembered so vividly when he broke that man's neck with one swift, harsh twist. Right in front of her, right in front of her daughter. Nobody had been expecting it, so nobody had time to avert their eyes – to this day, Sarah remembered the terrified squeal her daughter had made, burying her face into her side, and Sarah had held her daughter tightly, fighting the urge to throw up.

One of Bane's hands disappeared into his pocket and withdrew a packet of oyster crackers. He noticed that at the crinkle of cellophane, he suddenly had her full attention again; her eyes were on his hands, as if gauging how easily he could break her. She was tiny, that was certain – petite naturally and skinny from low rations for the past month. He could break every bone in her body with a minimum of effort, but what fun would that be? It had been a long morning of routing out the little pockets of rebellion that threatened to form together in a cohesive flame, and he was ready to check on his new projects.

His hands, so massive and muscular, were surprisingly delicate when he opened the bag of crackers, and crumbled one with a twitch. "Come here," Bane ordered through the mask. She shuddered at the sound, and pressed herself further against the wall, as thought she believed he couldn't see her.

"I'm not going anywhere until you show me my daughter," Sarah said rustily.

"If you disobey an order, the punishment will fall on your daughter," Bane warned, glaring at her. "I shall not repeat myself."

She took a step or two tentatively toward him, and then darted at the bag in his hand. He caught her wrist with blurring speed, and she whimpered in pain as he gripped her arm in a bone-crushing hand. With only the slightest effort, he could twist her arm and snap the bone in two clean pieces, and she sensed this. Her pupils dilated, and he reeled her in with great deliberation, until she was right next to him. Slowly, he released her, and took another cracker out of the plastic bag. Her breathing was short and sharp, although she didn't make a move to run away from him. Wordlessly, he dropped a cracker in her hand, and it had barely touched her skin before she shoved it into her mouth.

Nine crackers later, she appeared to control herself, and took a step back. "Is she okay?" Sarah asked, looking pleadingly up at him. "Don't hurt her. Please."

"Any pain she receives will only be the result of your actions," Bane said flatly. "The same will happen to you if she fails to understand an order."

Silently, she took another cracker from him, small fingers not even daring to touch his hand. It was amazing, really, how quickly they learned. It would have taken him days to break a man to this point – perhaps he should start recruiting women into his army. This one was literally eating from his hand after only a few hours. "What's your name?" Bane asked, feigning interest, when really all he wanted was to get her talking. Lack of human contact, and the prisoners automatically started talking to whoever they saw, and he wanted to initiate it.

"Sarah Reid," She answered softly, her tired voice full of static and crackers. "My daughter's name is Victoria. She's six and a half, and everyone calls her Tori." She was looking fervently into his eyes now, ignoring the crackers. "She...she loves to draw. If you can...if you can get her something to color with..." Her voice was breaking and her already swollen eyes were filling with tears, "Crayons...or markers...if you let me go, I can get her favorite things...Please, just let me see her. Why do you have us? What did we do?"

"You intrigue me," Bane answered lowly. "You are handed a city, the fruits of which are within your reach, and yet you skulk around under cover of darkness as though you do not own what is rightfully yours. Why is that?"

"I'm not...I'm not going to start looting, if that's what you mean," Sarah replied, trying to wipe away her tears inconspicuously. "I did take some things, mostly from the supermarkets, but only what we could eat in a few days and nothing more."

"Selflessness," Bane rumbled, "is an admirable quality."

She looked up at him with a mixture of utter terror and suspicion. "My husband was part of the rebellion, you know," Sarah said suddenly, and Bane saw through what she was trying to do. Scare tactics. "He...he was shot down. Your men killed him in the street, in front of a bus full of schoolchildren. He worked next to John Blake, the detective."

Now she was beginning to interest him, although none of it showed on his face.

"I...I can tell you where Blake is," Sarah said desperately, grasping at straws, "just...just let me see my baby."

"No, Miss Reid," Bane murmured, crumpling up the cracker bag, "I think you are attempting to send me into a trap in order to make certain your daughter is out of harm's way. You will not see your daughter, nor will I allow you to leave these premises. When I decide your behavior is satisfactory, you shall be reunited with your daughter."

He began to leave.

"_No!"_

She pounced on him, grabbing his elbow, and he nearly reared back and backhanded her into the wall, but she wasn't trying to hurt him. Her fingers gripped the bunched, corded muscle in his forearm and she began to sob again – wracking, ugly, barking sobs. "Let me see my daughter! Please! _Please_, just let me see her!"

He dispatched her easily, shaking her off like a fly, and closed the door behind her. He heard her fall to the ground, and his scarred lips twisted upward in a smile. Accelerated manipulation – before too long, she would be at a workable stage.

* * *

She was curled up in the middle of his bed when he opened the door.

It took him a moment to see past the tangle of blankets and hair, but once he distinguished what it was, his dark eyes narrowed. It was the little girl, Victoria, and she was sleeping exhaustedly on his pillow. It was the sleep of the dead, Bane had seen enough grief-stricken children to know that – the buildup of grief which weighed so heavily on a tiny child, until they were forced into several hours of nearly comatose slumber. He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and hung it on the back of his chair, and folded his arms. The mother, Sarah, she was coming along excellently. He had to give her something to hope for soon, a little snippet of her daughter to teethe on before she turned vicious and wild. Increments of hope, that was the key; too long with no hope and they simply gave up on themselves. This was different, however, seeing as it was a mother with her child. Sarah might give up on herself, but she would never stop until she made sure her daughter was safe. Motherhood made women indomitable, but he had to give her something before she was too desperate to manage properly.

Victoria had taken off her small sweatshirt and piled it neatly in the farthest corner of the room, as though claiming that tiny space between the bed and the wall as her own. Her shoes and socks were next to them, and he noticed a pink, bare foot hanging off the edge of his bed. Her thumb was jammed in her mouth, a sign of repression, and he sneered darkly at the sign of weakness. Talia had been this age and she had been training in the prison cells, already toning her physique, but this small child was curled in a ball, sucking on her thumb. Despite her lower class background, this little girl was privileged compared to Talia's cruel, unwanted upbringing.

He curled his hand around her throat and marveled at the _size _of her. Easily, he could snap her neck – one quick jerk and it would be a nearly instantaneous, mostly painless death. Her entire head could fit in his hand, and crushing her skull wouldn't be difficult either. Before he could fully contemplate either of these rather boring ideas, her dark brown eyes snapped open.

Unlike her mother, she hadn't yet bathed or eaten, so most of the life in her eyes was dulled, and her small face was framed by ratty snarls of greasy hair. But she wasn't crying to struggling to get away from him, merely laying there and letting him circle a hand around her neck. She seemed weary of the idea of living, and let him apply the slightest bit of pressure to her throat. Her jaw locked, and one bare foot kicked, but before she could become even slightly uncomfortable he released her.

Bane withdrew an orange from his pocket, and the sphere of color seemed way too bright in the gloom of the bedroom. She was instantly animated, getting to her knees and rocking back, eyes fastened on the food. She was hungry for light, as any child would be when confined to small spaces for weeks, and he began peeling it slightly, thick fingers quick and articulate through the soft skin.

"Can I have a piece?" She asked, blinking solemnly, fully expecting him to say no. Tori had woken up with his hand around her neck, and she had almost closed her eyes and gone back to sleep when she saw him – because wasn't that the best way to wake up from a nightmare? Surely, this was some sort of bad dream, with her monster leaning over her, casually hooking his fist around her neck and examining her lazily. That gaping black mask, with the constant _whoosh_ of breath, that couldn't be real life. She needed to wake up, so her mommy could rub her back and make her warm milk with honey in it, and then everything would melt away like bad dreams did.

But this wasn't a bad dream. This was real life. And her monster, the man who lurked under her bed and emerged in her nightmares to pull her from the arms of her mother, was sitting inches away from her, casually peeling an orange.

He pulled a section of the orange from the group, and broke it in half. The juice ran down his fingers, and the citrus smell lit up the whole room. His dark eyes willed her to come closer, and she did, plucking the wet orange from his fingers and popping the small piece into her mouth. After a split second of hesitation, she took the other piece and stuffed it between her teeth, chewing rapidly. Within moments, she had eaten the whole orange from his hand and it had only awakened her hunger.

Once there was nothing left but the peels, he wiped his hands absently on his scorched cargo pants and observed his little captive. She was busily licking her fingers, absorbing every drop of nutrients from her hands. "Thank you," She mumbled to her knees.

"Your welcome," Bane returned, his voice an intimidating growl. She shrank away from that voice, but he reached out a hand reassuringly to stroke her hair. The little girl shivered at once, but she made no move to run away, just sat there stiffly and let him card his fingers through her hair. "Your mother wishes to see you," Bane murmured.

Tori perked up. "Can I see her?"

"Not yet, little one." Bane soothed, and felt her drawing away from him. "Who is your father?" He asked. He could extract more information out of this girl than the mother, who would only try to feebly manipulate him before relenting.

Her face darkened. "He's _bad_." She said, looking away from him and jerking away from his petting hand. "Mom said he's dead." She curled her knees against her chest, hugging everything she could closer to herself. "His name was...uh..." She strained, obviously trying to remember what other people had called her father besides 'Daddy'. "George," She said finally, remembering. "Georgie old boy, that's what Uncle Robert used to call him."

Bane's silence was apparently encouraging.

"Mom used to call him other things, bad words. I'm not supposed to say them. He used to...he used to drink the Bad Stuff a lot, and come home late. Mom would make him sleep on the couch. But not like a sleepover kind of way, in a bad way, like there weren't any blankets and he didn't watch TV." Tori's thumb tried to creep back into her mouth. "Uncle Robert used to come over and talk to Mom for a long time about Daddy. I think Mom loved him more when he was away, after..." She looked up at Bane with big, quiet eyes. "After you broke that man's head. At the football field. When we came home, he was gone."

Bane's gray eyes were approving, and he stroked her flinching head once more before leaving as silently as he came.

He found Barsad downstairs, playing poker with some of the men. "My brother," Bane said gently, embracing him strongly. The bearded man dipped his head before his beloved general.

"I need you to find out all you can on a man named George Reid."

* * *

_A/N: Whew! Lookit all those beautiful reviews! 3 Thank you ever so much, all this encouragement is really helping me to write. ^^ _

_Make sure you check out the **official cover **for _Into the Terrible Night_! There's a link on my profile, and I hope you enjoy!_


	4. Chapter 4: Protecting The Cub

**Chapter Four: Protecting The Cub **

* * *

_Her name is Victoria Anne Reid._

Smash!

_She loves the color pink._

Wham!

_Her favorite toy is Bluey the Bear._

Wham!

_She loves Sesame Street._

_Crunch!_

With a strangled sob, she dropped to her knees when the concrete surface finally crumbled into sizeable chunks. Her hands were raw and red from wielding the metal cot frame, and her entire body felt as though it had been pulled through a wringer. Bane hadn't been to see her in hours, maybe days, seeing as time was elastic and forgettable down here. Sarah's hands trembled as she picked up the chunk of concrete, clutching the jagged edge in her hands. The bed had been bolted to the floor, but with some inner strength, she had managed pried it from the floor and lift it up perhaps four inches. It wasn't far for the heavy frame to fall, but Sarah doubted she could have lifted it any higher – the bed weighed nearly as much as she did, and her shaking arms were feeling the strain. Deep red welts had cut into her fingers from slamming the frame into the concrete, but finally, she had something she could use.

A weapon.

It wasn't much – just a piece of concrete shard, maybe four inches long, an inch thick, give or take. But it was enough. Her goal was the mask; her whole plan hinged on that it was used for more than just intimidation, and he actually needed it to survive. She had no way of knowing this, but it was a hope. And that was more than she had had for months. Sarah combed her brown hair out of her eyes and swallowed. Her body was pouring sweat, and she was tempted to run the tub and take a cold bath, except she knew that in a few hours she would be stiff, cold, and aching all over again. Now that she had her 'weapon', she was in business. She rubbed the concrete dust out of her eyes and went to crouch behind the door, her entire body feeling shaky with fear and adrenaline, but the pain was already beginning to settle in.

He would come see her today. She hoped.

Crouching behind the door, Sarah gritted her teeth and waited tensely for her quarry to walk into her feeble trap.

_My daughter's name is Victoria Anne Reid. She was born on October ninth, and her first word was 'Mommy'. She loves her pink overalls and Big Bird. I'm her mother, and I'm going to get her out of here. _

* * *

Bane didn't regret many things. But if there was one thing which he rarely did, it was underestimate something. Normally, he overestimated everything, prepared for everything and surprised by nothing. But he regretted underestimating the strength of a woman's ferocity when separated from her child.

He opened the door with no specific plans in mind – maybe some more psychological intimidation, more taunting, perhaps a threat or two – but he did have a packet of cookies in his pocket, and he planned to feed her again. She was probably half crazy by this time, and he fully expected her to be in the corner, worn out from her screaming fits. His men had reported that she had been slamming against something all day, although it had petered off later in the afternoon. This should have tipped him off, but for some reason he underestimated her. He forgot how quickly a woman's mind broke down to the essential level, with one animalistic goal in mind; to find and protect her offspring.

She blindsided him, something hard broke into his field of vision and crushed against his mask. He had one still shot of her, hair wild, eyes savage, before she drew back and struck him again. His hand was already on her throat and squeezing down hard, but the pain attacked him from all angles, ripping up the scars across his back, sending tears through his vision, and he roared in pain. He cradled his head, every inch of his face on fire, and tried to think past the pain. It felt as though thin metal rods were stabbing him in the face, the prickling pain slicing through everything. Whether he had snapped or neck or released her he didn't know, but he hear the fizzing, hissing noise of his precious Venom escaping into the air.

Sarah smelled something dank, medicinal and sharp, like alcohol with a coat of mold, and landed on her feet. Bane had seized her neck and actually dragged her to face level, lifting her off the ground, but by this time he was already clawing at the mask, desperate to reconnect his precious tubes. Her throat began to swell, but once she started scrambling away from him, one huge booted foot struck her in the lower back, right against her kidneys, and everything went black. Her hearing popped, whined, disappeared and then emerged again from the end of a tunnel – breath was hard to catch. She heard his breathing steadying, and she knew that if she didn't move _right this instant_ he would bring that boot down again and crush her like an ant.

He cleared his vision of stars once his Venom began to kick back in, and after a few calming inhales of his toxin, he saw her mane of hair disappear around the corner. She was heading straight to his men, into the thicket of them, and she wouldn't last long out there. Bane crossed the hallway in two long steps, and stood in the doorway, watching silently as his heartbeat began to calm.

She was fighting her way through the crowd, her small jagged weapon gone from her hands, but she was bestial without any weapons at all. Nails, teeth, elbows, legs, any aspect of her body were used as a weapon. But she was thin and starved, and his men were growing fat off the land he had given them. Obviously, they didn't know who she was, but if she was running away and screaming then she was something to play with.

"_Where is she?"_ Sarah screamed, smashing the nose of one of his soldiers. "_Give me back my daughter, you son of a bitch! You give me back my daughter!_"

He let the men have her for nearly a minute, let her clothes be torn from her body, and let the blows start raining down on her. If he left her there, she would be abused and torn limb from limb. His men were vicious and bored, the worst kind of dogs to let laze about the place, and they were evidently enjoying their fun.

Bane couldn't believe himself. He had been sloppy, slow, and careless. A pathetic woman alone in a cell had been able to overpower him – her determination to reach her daughter was no excuse. He was at fault, he had been the one who ignored her manipulation, pushed her too far too soon, and now she had snapped. It took men weeks to reach this point, the point when they had nothing to lose, but he realized that Sarah had been at rock-bottom ever since she had been separated from her daughter. His hand raised to touch the bent silver bracket which she had smashed with her concrete weapon – she knew his weakness somehow, had known something even his men didn't know, and he didn't know how she became privy to this knowledge.

They were going to kill her. She could feel the hands, tearing, wrenching at her clothing and exposing her to the frigid air. A noose was around her neck, and she heard the catcalls and deranged screams. _Fine_, some warped part of her mind jubilated. Better she die fighting for her daughter then waste away doing nothing. She couldn't draw breath to scream, to utter a word – someone was yanking the noose, delighting in her constricted features and arched back. Hands yanked her legs apart, and were rewarded with weak, ineffective kicks.

The very moment – the exact _second_ – she stopped caring about her daughter and began fearing for her own life, she blacked out.

Seconds later she realized she had hit the floor, and her brief unconsciousness was over. Sarah was dropped, backed away from, and she lay there struggling to breath. Already a puffy line of bruises were rising around her neck, and her throat felt swollen to the size of a pinprick. Her whole body convulsed as she tried to stand, and dragged herself to her knees.

"She is not to be touched."

It was Bane.

He crunched the fallen blade of a knife beneath one boot, snapping it cleanly in two, and bent towards her. Her features, framed with shaggy brunette hair, looked up at him with thick weakness and downright stupidity, dazed after her brush with death. Bane seized a fistful of her hair and dragged her to her knees; she tried to scream, both hands scrabbling at his iron fist, but he shook her harshly. "I will only say this once, my brothers," Bane boomed to his soldiers, "Those I claim for my own shall stay my own. If you see her again without my presence, you have my permission to do with her as you like. I shall not stop you."

Bane twisted her hair a little tighter as he dragged her further upwards, showing his taut prize to his men. "But today, my brothers, she is my property. I will not explain what will befall the man who attempts to claim my property."

He dropped her unmercifully, letting her already bruised body strike the floor. She twitched, and lay shivering at his feet like a thoroughly beaten dog. Bane could sense her rising anger pushing through her despair and pain – any moment now, and she would attempt to rise again. He kicked her once, not holding anything back, and the fight went out of her as she curled in a breathless ball.

Her vision swam in black stars, and then she focused on trying to breathe. Sarah could barely understand what was happening – he was _claiming _her? She glared up at him with as much anger as she could muster, and spat, "Give me Tori."

Bane looked down at her, and his hand was around her throat again in a moment. As he pulled her to his level, her frantic mind flew apart. How had she been able to overpower this man? Was his mask that much of a weakness? Two blows with a rock and she could slip past him? He was a monster, corded with muscle and as big as the universe. His eyes crowded into her mind and she knew nothing else. "In good time," He murmured, and she was set back down on the floor.

She didn't need an invitation to follow him, and after a split second of hesitation, she did so, limping on her twisted ankle.

Almost as soon as she was in his room, she saw Tori sitting on the bed. The ragged breath she drew was a sob of joy, and she tried to squeeze past Bane in order to reach her child.

He had other ideas.

Bane snatched her by the arm, twisting both of her wrists behind her back, and she heard the grating yank of a zip tie circling her wrists. "Tori!" Sarah cried, but a scrap of her own shirt was stuffed into her mouth. Bane tossed her on the bed with no preamble, and ignored her feeble, flailing attempts to reach her daughter. Bane scooped up the young girl and nearly threw her out of the room, earning a muffled, broken shriek from the mother. Tori wriggled, half asleep, and mumbled, "Mommy?" before Bane slammed the door.

Underestimated or not, she would still be punished.

* * *

_A/N: I owe you guy an apology. What with riding the success of the last chapter, what with all the wonderful, truly inspiring reviews, I feel like this chapter is a disappointment. There were a lot of emotions I wanted to convey and a lot more things I wanted to include, but unfortunately I lost the first draft of this chapter. I know most of you don't know my writing process, but that was really crippling for this chapter's emotions. Usually I'm better if I bang it out in one shot, and when I had to rewrite this, I feel like some of the zip was lost. So again, I'm very sorry, but the more I try to edit and rewrite the worse it would come out. Hopefully, I can include some better emotions in the next chapter, and it'll certainly be a doozy chapter to write, with lots of Bane + Tori moments. And hopefully we'll be able to explore the girls' background a little more. _

_I also feel like Bane isn't terribly IC. This is a big problem for me, seeing as I wrote this story with the intention of giving him a little bit of his BAMF'ery back, when really I'm making him into this guy who can get overpowered by a starving mother. I'm really sorry, but an escape attempt had to be made, and Bane had to be at fault somehow – I hope to make it clearer in later chapters. This is just the beginning, that's my only excuse, and I really, really hope to either rewrite this, or rectify it somehow. :(_


	5. Chapter 5: Lesson Learned

**Chapter Five: Lesson Learned**

* * *

She trembled beneath his touch, flinching away from his gentle caress. Those fingers, so big and yet so quick, were feathering around the re-opened cut on her brow. "You have much to learn," Bane rumbled lowly, his mask warping his voice robotically. "Your escape attempt was the result of your own foolishness. From now on, I shall make no move to stop you leaving, but know this – the moment you set foot outside of this room without my presence, my men will attack you. And I shall refuse to hold them back." He was so close to her, striking distance, except she was flat on her back, bound and gagged. Sarah's tears fell down her temples as she met his gaze, and saw with a flare of terror that his eyes weren't black at all – they were blue-gray, and so impassionate she would normally call him bored; but his eyes crinkled, and she realized that he was smiling at her. One thumb pressed sharply against her bruised cut, pushing past the scab and sending a pulse of pain rocketing through her head.

Bane left her there on her bed, sobbing inconsolably, and picked up her daughter. Sarah's eyes were on him, desperate and horrified, and Bane deliberately pushed a curl away from her daughter's cheek. The gesture was simple, and would have been almost affectionate had it not been a masked terrorist who held her so securely. Sarah attempted to scream something at him through the gag, but Bane shut the door firmly.

Tori was his, at least for now.

He set her down once they had crossed the hallway, wondering briefly why she hadn't struggled to get back to her mother. Tori's eyes were full of tears, but she didn't let them spill over. Bane hunkered down next to her, so their eyes were on a level, and drank in that drowsy fear she had written all over her face. And yet she was defiant – her defiance would be gone after today. "You will stay close to me," Bane warned her, his voice soft and velvet behind the mask's automated tone, "If you do not, I will allow my men to tear you limb – from – limb. Do I make myself clear? I will not rescue you if you fall behind."

She swallowed, looking fearfully up at him. He waited for her nod, and then stood to his full height.

There were places to be. Bane shrugged himself into his thick overcoat, turned up the collar, and swept out the door. Tori trotted to keep up, taking three steps to every one of his, and was practically jogging to stay next to him. With a quick glance, she tried to count the men lounging around campfires in this abandoned building, but lost count due to Bane's speed. They were all staring at her, some of them grinning a little, and Tori felt a flutter of fear through her belly. Her masked monster, the thing which pervaded through her nightmares killing her mother, was the only thing protecting her now.

And that frightened her more than anything else in the world.

* * *

Snow flaked down from the dreary gray sky, and Bane's boots crunched in the light snow. There was a set of twin tracks left behind by a tumbler, and he stepped onto it easily. Tori waded through the deep snow and stumbled to keep up, panting and expelling plumes of frozen breath into the air. Her own fleece jacket seemed flimsy in the low temperature, but Bane seemed perfectly at ease as they strode down the street. She noticed the looks people gave them, and she felt tears pricking her eyes. They were all glaring at her, like she was the pet of this nightmarish monster, like she had betrayed them all. She tripped over her own feet and fell in the snow, clicking her teeth together harshly. Bane didn't break stride, merely left her there in the ice, and Tori picked herself up with difficulty. Her lip was bleeding a little, and some of her tears had fallen down her face, making tiny wet trails on her cheeks. Bravely, she swiped them off and hurried to keep up with Bane.

Would he protect her from the people on the streets, too? Tori didn't know. He paid no attention to their stares and whispers, although he did seem to be looking everywhere. Tori heard the low, thunderous roar of an engine behind them, and nearly crashed into the back of Bane's legs in her effort to get away from it. A camo-colored tumbler zipped up next to them, bigger than a tank, and the hatch popped open. The bearded face of a man emerged, and Tori noticed that unlike the rest of the men driving tanks, he didn't look angry or lazy. He had short cropped brown hair, almost like her daddy's haircut, with an unshaven chin and pale blue eyes. "Barsad, my brother," Bane called to him, and when Barsad jumped out of the tumbler, he was wiry and thin next to Bane's monstrous height and weight.

Barsad glanced at her quickly, raising an eyebrow at Bane's choice of companion, but said nothing. "My lord," Barsad said in rapid Arabic, in case any of Bane's men were listening, "It is not safe for you to travel alone. Not with the rebellion going on."

"The rebellion will be short lived," Bane returned, just as fluently, "And I am certain the troublemakers will release their foolish hopes once Detective Blake and Commissioner Gordon have been taken care of."

"I have information about John Blake," Barsad said, looking around. "Would you accompany me? I can drive you to where you wish to go."

Bane nodded once, and climbed into the spacious tumbler. Tori sniffed, and peered up at the tank side, searching for footholds. Bane made no move to assist her, and she scrambled up the side with much less finesse. Barsad pulled on her fleece hood, barely looking at her, and she fell heavily into the backseat. The bearded terrorist pressed a button, and the top of the tank resealed itself. Barsad flipped the truck into gear, and pulled smoothly away from the curb. "My lord, I have gathered information regarding George Reid," Barsad muttered in Arabic, "Your captive bird was not lying to you when she said her husband worked alongside John Blake."

His gray eyes were flat. "Go on."

"My research shows that he was separated from his wife before our liberation began. He was a Gotham Police Officer, loosely linked with the rebellions until he was shot and killed last month." Barsad continued. "While I do not think she knows the whereabouts of John Blake, she may be useful in drawing him out."

Bane shifted his weight, leaning against the side of the door. "I will think on what you have told me," Bane murmured. "Thank you, brother."

In the backseat, Tori was growing very confused over the language change and felt alone. She wished she had her teddy bear – he was a stuffed blue bear that had a shiny heart sewn onto his paw, and whenever she pressed his paw he would say something nice. Sometimes he said 'You're my very special friend!' but sometimes he said, 'Do you want to go play?'. She liked it when he called her a special friend; even though he was just a dumb stuffed bear, he was the nicest friend she ever had. Tori tried to push back her tears but it wasn't any good. Her mommy was tied up in Bane's bedroom, and she would get hurt if she tried to leave. She wanted more than anything for Bane to let her mommy go so they could go back to the apartment and eat rice noodles again. Even staying at home doing nothing was better than this.

"You may stop here," Bane said, in English this time, and Tori perked up. They were pulling in front of an unknown building, but she could hear the noise already – people were shouting and screaming from inside the building and outside; a long line of people stretched around the block, and there were rough looking men keeping them in line. She shivered in spite of herself.

As Bane and Tori stepped out (Tori a little more gracefully this time), Barsad saluted his general and took off down the street once more. Bane glanced down at his pet. "Today, you will see justice done," Bane said cryptically, and Tori pressed closer to his side. Everyone was looking at them, absolutely _everyone_, and some of them were crossing themselves. Bane strode carelessly forward, and Tori bobbed behind him sheepishly. Whispers began to wind through the crowd, some of them pointing at her, and Tori looked away quickly. There were people looking at her sympathetically, others angrily, but most were just staring at Bane with numb expressions on their faces.

Inside was a madhouse.

There were convicts, jailbirds, and patients from Arkham Asylum, all stamping their feet and making a ruckus. There were screams to be heard, shouts to be quiet, and shrieks of pain. Before she even really knew what she was seeing, her eyes fell upon a mound of dead bodies piled in the left hand corner of the building. Her stomach heaved, but there was nothing to throw up, so she clamped a hand over her mouth and stayed quiet. Bane stood impressively near the edge of the room, leaning against a pillar, and Tori stood awkwardly next to him. High up on an ornate desk, with piles of books and papers surrounding him, was a thin young man. Cracked glasses, slightly askew, were perched on his nose, and the arm of his jacket was ripped. There was something...not quite right in his eyes, something visible even from the opposite side of the room. A gavel was in his hands, and he was pounding it for silence. It was Doctor Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, and he was reveling in his role of executioner.

Tori unconsciously drew even closer to Bane as the raging around her increased, her thumb obstinately going to her mouth, and she saw something she'd never see in her life happen.

Her mother's friend, a nice old lady called Mrs. Levitt, had been dragged towards the center of the room by two soldiers. She was maybe sixty; a little plump, but today she looked every day of seventy years. The thumb came out of Tori's mouth with a little pop, and she started forward. Bane's shift of presence made her remember, but when she looked pleadingly up at him, he refused to meet her eyes. Mrs. Levitt was on her knees, shaking and crying, and her tight gray curls were limp and flat. She had been nice – once, when Tori came over with her mother, she had given them both little sugared cookies, and slipped Tori an extra one on the way out.

"Please," Mrs. Levitt croaked, "I've done nothing wrong...Please, what did I do?"

"This is not a trial," Crane said, peering over the mound of papers, "This is a sentencing. How do you wish your sentence to be carried out? Death or exile?"

"What have I done?" Mrs. Levitt said, weeping, "What have I done to any of you?"

"You've merely shackled Gotham under a lie," Crane said, scratching a note on a pad in front of him, "You have lived off the fat of the land while these poor men suffered!" The inmates around him roared their approval, and it took several moments of Crane banging the gavel to make them quiet. "So again, I ask you: Death, or exile?"

"I beg you, please..." Mrs. Levitt wiped her nose and swayed on her feet.

"_No!_"

Everyone looked at the back of the room, towards Bane, and saw the little girl at his feet.

Her cheeks were scarlet, and her snarled hair hanging in unkempt locks around her face. "No, I won't let you hurt her!" She said, taking a step forward. The clothes she wore were almost entirely too big, with a gray fleece hoodie hanging off her thin shoulders, and a jacket buttoned up around her. She was filthy, sickly, and crying. "Don't hurt her, she's _nice_!" The little girl dashed up to Mrs. Levitt, who was still weeping, and embraced her around the waist tightly.

Crane was enjoying himself immensely. He looked over at Bane, who was standing impassively at the back of the room. "Your protégé is a charm, Bane," Crane said, with an eerie smile creating dimples in his thin cheeks. He rapped his gavel. "Death for the old woman, and bring the girl forward for sentencing!" He looked challengingly at Bane. "Unless, of course, you object?"

Bane made a dismissive gesture, and looked away as if bored by the whole thing.

"No!" Tori screamed, but was wrenched away from Mrs. Levitt. There was a _bang!_ – and Mrs. Levitt twitched, then lay still. Tori's shriek of horror was drowned by the bellows of approval coming from all around her, and she stayed frozen as a statue while Mrs. Levitt's body was dragged away and left next to the pile of dead bodies. Her blood was smeared on the floor, and Tori couldn't take her eyes off it. It was so _red_.

"Now," Crane popped his knuckles, and looked down at his trapped quarry. "For our very youngest criminal yet, I ask you: shall we charge her with death? Or exile?"

The crowd went wild, shouting conflicting arguments at the mock judge. Tori looked back at Bane, her eyes wild, but the terrorist was looking at her with expressionless eyes. She had made her choice – she had to live with it. Tori shook and nearly fell, but threw out a leg to catch herself at the last moment. There was a bloodthirsty mob around her, chanting for her death, and Tori had never wanted her mother more than she did at this instant.

"The choice is made!" Crane grinned. "Exile!"

* * *

The frozen river was covered with a thin coat of snow. Thick ridges, made by the slowly freezing waves, were patterned against the ice, and there were dark bloodspots where the thin ice lay. Already, the surface was dotted with holes and the ice seemed greatly weakened. A handful of other 'criminals', namely the wealthy of Gotham, were standing on the rocky banks. Tori was in their midst, holding herself together as best she could. Bane had accompanied them, but didn't try to stop any of his soldiers from ruthlessly dragging off his captive. She had disobeyed him, and now she was learning her lesson. His gray eyes fixed on her as the soldiers began bumping their captives onto the ice.

She was the first one to step forward.

He remembered that, because it was the second impressive show of bravery today. Standing up for the old woman when she most likely knew the consequences, and now, facing her consequences head on. If she had been older, and a man, he would have recruited her into his army. But first he had to see how far she was willing to go. Bane descended the steep, rubble covered hillside to the edge of the bank, and folded his arms across his wide chest.

Tori remembered her teacher – blonde, pretty, nice Miss Whitmore – and remembered a story she had once told. It had been about a polar bear that lost his scarf.

_"Miss Whitmore? Why is the polar bear down on his belly like that?"_

_"Because that's how polar bears can cross the ice! They get down on their tummies and they can spread out their weight so the ice won't crack."_

Tori got down on her knees, and then flat onto her belly. Several of the tattered prisoners glanced at her with blank expressions, wondering if she was just going to give up and lay there. Slowly, Tori inched her way forward, pulling herself with her nails and trying to ignore the flashes of Mrs. Levitt. She had been shot in the back of the head, and _stuff_ had come out the back. Not just blood. Had her daddy been like that? Did he feel anything? Had someone thrown _his_ body onto a big pile like that?

Directly in front of her, one of the slenderest young women cracked through the ice, and vanished with barely a scream. Tori dug into the ice with her nails, her nose inches from the dark, swirling hole. Beneath her, the weakened ice gave out a groan and she saw a spider web of cracks beginning to spread beneath her. A man to her left looked at Tori, and bent down to help her get up – the added weight cracked the ice, and he was gone too.

"Bane!"

Bane heard Tori's cry, registering that it was the first time she had used his name. "Bane, help me! Please!" She mewled, unable to turn around. Several of the soldiers glanced at him to see if he would do anything, but settled back once they saw that he hadn't moved.

"Oh God, if any of you have a heart at all, help her!" A woman yelled at Bane. "She's a baby!"

"She is paying for her crimes," One of the soldiers shouted. "Keep walking!"

"What crimes?" Another man half-turned to shout. "She's a little kid! For God's sake –"

The ice cracked, and he vanished with a scream.

Tori had managed to turn herself around with great difficulty, and she saw one of the soldier's aim at her head. _He's going to shoot me_, she thought, stricken, _he's going to shoot me and blood's going to get all over the ice, just like Daddy and Mrs. Levitt. Gross stuff is going to come out my head._

"Hold your fire." Bane murmured, so soft the soldiers barely heard it. "If she can make it back to shore, let her."

Her breath came in stuttering gasps, and she pulled herself inch by agonizing inch across the ice. There was another crack, and a splash, as another person behind her was sucked down by the current. Tears started to fall down her cheeks, and she looked up at Bane. "Please," She begged. "Bane, _help me_!"

None of them moved.

_For my mommy. I have to get back to shore for my mommy. _

The cracks beneath her grew deeper and darker. The noise sounded like popcorn kernels popping.

_Don't break, please don't break!_

The cracks spread.

Tori skidded to her left and warily got to her feet. She was so close to shore, one more big jump and she could make it –!

She jumped. But she was off by a narrow margin.

Instead of landing on solid ground, she crashed right through the ice. Instantly, she sank up to her waist in the water, and her legs were sucked under by the current. She could feel greedy fingers pulling at her, and in a wild panic she thought it was all the other people who had been pulled under the ice, and who were pulling at her with dead, wet hands. They would drag her under the ice and she would drown, she would die, if she didn't get out of this hole! Tori screamed, pushing blinding with the heels of her hands as she tried to lever herself out of the ice, but she was stuck; the current was pulling her under – in a split second, she would be pulled under too –!

A hand snatched the back of her hood and yanked her upwards, driving her free of the ice and pulling her against a warm, solid chest.

It was Bane.

She fell against him completely, sobbing her eyes out, clinging to him like a half-drowned kitten. Her teeth were clicking together rapidly, and she could do little else but cry and shake for a good long while. Bane's rapid strides carried them away from the frozen river, away from the cold dead people trying to pull her under the ice, and up onto the road where the weak winter sunlight shone down on them.

"Thank you," She sobbed. "Th-thank you for s-saving me."

Bane held her against his chest, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a satisfied smile.

_Lesson learned._

* * *

Sarah was on the floor, writhing free of her bonds, when the door flew open. She looked up instantly, and croaked, "Tori!" Her gag lay on the floor, spat out long ago, and she struggled to stand.

What she saw stopped her heart.

Tori was clad only in someone's old sweatshirt, her eyes dead and empty, and her pants were missing. She was cold, and her legs were red and swollen. "Oh my God," Sarah whispered. "Oh my God, oh my God! Tori, oh my baby, what did he do?"

Her soulless eyes looked up at her mother. "Nothing, Mommy."

* * *

_A/N: OH MY GOD IT'S DONE._

_This, FYI, was what inspired the whole ficlet. This chapter. With Bane grabbing Tori out of the ice and everything. I had this image in my head, and its what spawned this whole plot. Hopefully, you guys can see it as clearly as I do, but I think I've mentioned before, I SUCK at description. Oh well. _

_Please review! All of your reviews are SO LOVELY, and I try to respond to every one of them. ^^ Thank you so much, and PLEASE keep up on the encouragement!_


	6. Chapter 6: Trial and Error

**Chapter Six: Trial and Error**

* * *

"You bastard."

He shut the door quietly behind him, and saw her sitting on the floor, cradling her child in her arms. She was cleaner and much better groomed than before his stint outside, and he noticed that he had wrapped Tori in a blanket. Sarah had obviously wriggled herself free of the zip ties and made use of the small, closet-type bathroom that he had adjoining his bedroom. Her hair was clean and dry, and before this moment he hadn't realized how very long it was; thick, wavy chestnut hair roiling down her shoulder and fringing into those hate-filled eyes. It was a small miracle she hadn't waited until he entered to attack him. Bane's guess was that she didn't want to move her sleeping child.

"Your daughter has paid the price your misbehavior brought her," Bane rumbled, wanting to rub his eyes but disliking showing that weakness in front of her. It had been a very long night, a _very_ long night indeed, and he still reeked of smoke and gunpowder.

"She said you didn't hurt her," Sarah said in a furious whisper, "But if you fall asleep, I'm going to gut you. I swear to God. I told you that if you touched her, I'd fucking kill you, and I meant it."

This was more curious than her wild-eyed rampage. She was clean, clear and lucid, sitting on the floor with her daughter tangled in her lap, and meant every word she said. "Did your daughter give you a complete account of what happened?" Bane wanted to know, dark eyes boring into her.

"She said you saved her from the ice," Sarah hissed, "But she's exhausted. She could barely talk when you dumped her here. And you _sick bastard, if you've –!_"

Her enraged temper stirred Tori, and the mussed little girl poked a sleepy, tousled head out from her mother's arm. Those dark half moons beneath her eyes were still there, but her brown eyes were sharper and brighter than they had been in weeks. "Mommy," Tori mumbled. "What's th' madder?"

"Nothing's the matter, sweetie," Sarah soothed her, pressing a kiss onto her hair. "Go back to sleep."

"Let the child speak," Bane growled. "Let her give you an account of what happened."

"She already did," Sarah snapped. "I'm sure you coached her very well."

Bane felt a ripple of anger. Allowing the mother to _think_ he had harmed her child was a tactic he had used before, and it usually worked excellently once the subject was reunited with their loved one. However, he had never actually hurt the girl; and he never would. As soon as Tori had crashed through the ice, a thought had broken through his line of thinking: _If that was Talia, I wouldn't rest until she was safe in my arms_. Truly, Tori was not the hardened, brilliant woman Talia was, but she was a small, innocent child. He couldn't hold her responsible for a crime that had been beyond her control. Still, he hadn't imagined that his manipulation would swing so far in the opposite direction. Some trial and error was necessary for this particular manipulation. "My word is very good," Bane said lowly, "And you have my word that I did not touch your daughter except to save her."

Tori unwound herself from Sarah's lap and peered sleepily at her mother. "Bane didn't hurt me."

Those eyes, those beautiful, innocent eyes that were just like George's. Sarah saw truth in them; her daughter honestly believed that Bane hadn't hurt her today. She was so like her father, so serious and determined, and taking the entire war on Gotham uncannily well. She tried so hard to be brave but usually failed, something that had afflicted her husband to his dying day. Even now, holding her daughter close, in the presence of a masked criminal, she couldn't help but see all the familiarities in her daughter's face. Tori was never a daddy's little girl, and George had never been an involved father, but their physical and emotional responses were incredibly similar. Sarah could almost imagine George looking at her with those same eyes, so convinced and sure of themselves, saying _I didn't drink last night. I've been dry for two weeks, Sarah._ And wasn't it always a lie? Once and forever?

But this wasn't George. This was Tori.

Sarah felt her eyes filling with tears. "If he didn't today," She told Tori softly, "He will soon."

Bane took this opportunity of self-reflection to slip off his jacket and unbuckle his thick body armor from around his chest. His wide, heavy belt was swung over the back of his desk chair, and he took a seat with a sigh of relief. Physical pain was little to him, but weariness affected him just like any other human being. The terrorist was tired now, and he was tired of dealing with this overprotective mother. "You do not seem to have learned the rules of the game," Bane purred. "If you misbehave, your daughter will be punished. She accepted her punishment today, and even attempted to take the punishment of another. Truly, if you must take comfort in one thing, take comfort in the fact that you have raised your daughter with high morals."

Sarah stared at him from the floor, watching the masked monstrosity calmly compliment her parenting skills, after possibly just molesting her daughter. Was he...? The thought flickered through her brain. Had he specifically _made_ her think that he had injured Tori, just to see her reaction? Had that been her punishment? Those sickening hours of sobbing, pleading with whatever God above was listening, to _please_, please help her daughter, had that been her punishment for attempting to escape? The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She hadn't seen any sign of molestation on Tori when she instantly ran a warm bath for her child, (Bane had heating in his tiny bathroom, the bastard), but she hadn't been convinced. Now that she had been presented with the idea of manipulation, it started to fit together. She had no bruising, no bleeding, no signs of _anything _at all, except legs which were in danger of frostbite. Her daughter, plunging through the ice – had Bane confiscated her pants in order to get the wet clothes off her body?

"That's all this is to you?" Sarah said, horrified. "A game? Two people's lives, the life of my _daughter_, that's a _game_ to you?"

"It is an exercise," Bane said levelly. "An exercise in the human mind. I am curious, Miss Reid, as to how far your selflessness runs. I believe that at their core, humans are corrupt, selfish beasts of instinct. And yet I have not discovered the depth of your selflessness yet."

"And when you figure our your little experiment," Sarah asked in a strangled voice, "will you let us go?"

Bane looked at her, considering. "Where would you go, Miss Reid? If I were to escort you off this perimeter without your child, where would you go?"

Without Tori by her side? There was only one logical option. "I'd go straight back in and get her," Sarah said flatly, without a hint of anger. It wasn't something to get emotional about, it was a fact. "If I had her with me, we'd...we'd run. We'd run and we'd never look back."

Tori wiggled out of her lap and gave her mother a reproachful look. Without saying anything, she went to the bathroom and closed the door quietly. Once her child was off her lap, Sarah dusted her hands off and stood up with a wince; after sitting still for hours in one position, her joints were stiff. She felt old and tired, stripped of anything worth having, and she stretched a little, trying to be subtle about it. When she was sure Tori wasn't listening, she crossed the small room and looked straight at Bane. Her eyes were still full of tears, but there was a fiery determination behind them. "I don't believe you," She said quietly. "I don't believe you when you say you didn't hurt my daughter." Sarah waited for a moment, half-hoping Bane would try to defend himself. When he didn't, she moved on. "But I believe my daughter. My daughter has never lied to me, and I know that won't last long, but I believe her nonetheless."

"You set your faith in the correct place," Bane said, and despite the gloom in the room she imagined she could see a spark of approval in his eyes. "Let me assure you that I have never broken my word. Put your fears to rest, Miss Reid. I am not a monster, I am a man of ethics."

"Ethics?" Sarah said, her voice rising. "Ethics? Don't you dare talk about ethics to me. You hold a city hostage, you kill thousands of people and you'll probably kill millions more, and you have the _balls_ to talk about ethics? Holding a mother and daughter captive is not _ethical_, Mr. Bane. Letting my daughter walk out onto the ice, if that's really what happened today, is not ethical. Forcing my child to have nightmares for months and probably years after this, if we even _live_ years after this, is not ethical. Scarring her for life is not ethical. Torturing people is not ethical. Calling yourself an ethical man when you're a _terrorist_ just shows what a sick, twisted person you are!"

Bane listened to her impassioned little speech with interest. "I hold myself to my own ethics," Bane said evenly. "Gotham City has been clean on a lie. Men have been imprisoned because of a lie. This world is a changing place, and the wildfire which is sweeping this city will be a cleansing one, the fire that ravages a forest so that true greenery can grow. To achieve those results, I am not afraid to strike the match which strips the world of its filth." He sat back in his chair, watching Sarah stand in front of him with her thin arms folded tightly across her chest. "None of this concerns you, Miss Reid. You are defensive and protective of your daughter, a true virtue in my eyes. Will you sit here and make pretty speeches as to the healing of Gotham, when my slightest word can rob your daughter of life?"

"You said you wouldn't hurt her," Sarah spat, her mouth dry with fear. "You said you wouldn't!"

The door opened, and Tori came out. She looked shyly at Bane, and then at her mother, and went over to the terrorist. "Goodnight, Bane," She said softly, and then bit her lower lip. The six year old went over to the bed and crawled underneath it as usual, curling into a tight ball and allowing her thumb to creep into her mouth.

Bane glared at Sarah. "My methods are painless," Bane said with menace. "And I will not hesitate to break you, Miss Reid. Do not make the mistake of underestimating me."

She then did something very odd, at least in Bane's eyes. Sarah took a step closer, and said in a broken voice, "If you kill my daughter, Mr. Bane, I will not only kill you, but I will do everything in my power to make sure it hurts." She looked directly at his mask, dropping her voice lower, "We'll see how well you fight without that mask, Mr. Bane. If you stay away from my daughter, I'll stay away from you."

He would have applauded, if he hadn't been so reluctant to wake the sleeping child.

* * *

_A/N: So that ran a little longer than expected. This was originally going to be the beginning of Chapter Six, but the conversations sort of spiraled and since Chapter Seven is sort of action-y, I figured I should split it up and keep the readability high. Thanks for all the reviews! A RECORD NINE REVIEWS for this chapter, woo hoo! That is totally awesome!_

_I'm also thinking of writing another story, so don't be surprised if the first chapter of a new story shows up on the front page of FF.N!_


	7. Chapter 7: Bloody, Burned, and Broken

**Chapter Seven: Bloody, Burned, and Broken**

* * *

The new Gotham, the brave new Gotham, was becoming fat on it's own manufactured hope.

How Sarah had fallen asleep was beyond him, since she had wedged herself between the wall and the bed, curled as closely to her daughter as possible. He hadn't been quiet in his opening of the door, but she remained fast asleep, her face vacant and smooth. There was no time to observe her in sleep, since he had things to accomplish; outside, the war raged as Gotham buckled inwards. Bane swept up his maps and plans, folding them haphazardly and stuffing them into his duffle bag. There were places to be – remaining in one location for longer than two weeks posed a problem, and advancing towards the rebellion would squash them into submission.

"You forgot your teddy bear," A very small voice behind him whispered.

He turned, unsurprised to see Tori awake and lucid, clutching Osito to her belly. She held it out to him, and blinked solemnly. "He's a nice bear," She lied, and it _was _a lie, since he was old and dirty and she had slipped her hand into the broken seam in his back and felt a knife. What kind of person kept knives in their teddy bears? Tori watched him accept the bear, turning the soft item over and over in his hands like it was a marvel.

Should he just leave them here? The idea of letting the mother sleep and leaving the child came upon him suddenly. Didn't he have enough to think about, enough to plan, without bothering with a mother and her child constantly? If he left them here, the rebels would find them, and they would be set loose on the streets. Within days, they would either starve or be crushed by the tidal wave of soldiers he was about to release into the city – his men had grown too lazy, and he wanted to give them some exercise. He looked down at Tori curiously. She sat on his bed with her legs tucked under her, almost calm in his presence but not quite. She was too tired to be properly scared, and he knew she was probably starving. And yet she stayed still, her gaze going from Osito to his face.

No. They were _his_. Much like a small, selfish child, Bane didn't like sharing his toys. He tucked his old teddy bear into his bag and announced loudly, "We're leaving."

There was a thump as Sarah stiffened in sleep and whacked her head on the bottom of the bead. She yelped in pain and scrambled to her feet, breathing hard, her eyes wild. "Tori," She gasped, and swept her daughter up into her arms.

"Come with me," Bane ordered. "If you attempt to escape, you will leave your fate in the hands of my men."

Sarah, still befuddled with sleep, pressed Tori close to her breast. He had cleaned the small room out – the maps had been torn off the walls, the papers folded up, and he had a bulky duffle bag swung over his shoulder. Surprisingly, Tori showed no reaction when both of them saw the sawed-off shotgun strapped to his broad back. Sarah tried to glare at him, but the anger in her gaze was subdued. "Where are you taking us?" She demanded.

There was an explosion, _huge_ and loud and horrifyingly close. Bane flinched subtly, but Sarah let out a little scream. "Elsewhere," He replied, and left the room.

The two girls had little choice but to follow.

Outside, the stars were just beginning to fade away. A lemon shard of sunlight was bathing the horizon, and he smelled the acrid scent of smoke. Gotham was crumbling from the outside, exposing the strips of rot within, just as he had planned. But just like a dying tree, new growth was beginning to sprout from the decay, much sooner than he had previously anticipated. Rebellions were flaring up like sparks all over the city, and the largest one was outside his door. His men had been playing with them for several hours, hemming them in and keeping them pinned down inside a broken warehouse. Now, once he stepped outside the door, the gunfire ceased.

"Detective Blake," Bane called, his voice shaking the entire world, "Surrender, or you will die."

"We'll never surrender!" A youthful voice shouted, and Sarah was sickened to hear how young it sounded. There was a rapid exchange of gunfire, and then the noise quieted.

"I have no wish to destroy innocence," Bane returned in the direction of the warehouse. "Those who have not been corrupted by Gotham must fight to retain their purity. Must you use children in your army, Detective?"

A very familiar voice broke through the cold still air. "They aren't children any more, thanks to you." John Blake shouted back from his position in the warehouse. Instantly, there was another rattle of bullets as they tried to pin down Blake's location. "Who do you have there, Bane?" Blake asked, peering through the broken glass as he tried to see what two women were cowering behind him.

"Two old friends of yours, Detective," Bane growled. "You've met Miss Reid before, I trust?"

His heart lurched into his throat. They had George Reid's wife and child! He had met Sarah many times before, had been there at their wedding, smoked one of George's celebratory cigars when Sarah told him they were pregnant. He had watched Tori grow up, and along with it, had watched their marriage deteriorate. He had eaten dinner over their house before, had stayed silently by while George drank away his life. Reid had been one of his men, one of the best working agents in the field if he could only keep himself sober. Blake had intervened before, and it hadn't been pretty. They reconciled only briefly when Blake's rebellion began to form, and Blake had been there when Reid got gunned down.

It took a solid three seconds to swallow the lump in his throat. "No, I think you're mistaken," Blake yelled back. "I don't know her."

Sarah drew Tori closer to her chest, and her mind began to run in a thousand different directions. Would Bane kill her to try and break Blake? Would it even work? "Whether you know Miss Reid or not," Bane replied evenly, "the fact still remains that you are surrounded by children. You have a decision in front of you, Detective." Bane spread his arms wide. "You have your sights on me. And my men have their sights on Miss Reid and her child. Take the shot, Detective, and the two of them will surely die."

"Is that a threat?"

"Are the lives of two really worth the lives of a city?" Bane challenged, taking a step closer. "Take the shot, Blake. I will not kill you and make you a martyr, but I will kill the boys you have surrounding you."

Blake glanced at the three young boys, all under seventeen, armed to the teeth and aiming their weapons at Bane. "It's not that simple," He answered. "Do you think I'm just going to let you go?"

"Make your decision. If you shoot me, there is no guarantee that the people of Gotham will be safe. But you will earn your fame in Gotham's place of heroes. If you don't shoot me, I will order my men to kill the boys you claim are men."

Sarah froze. Bane _wanted_ to be shot?

The world tipped in slow motion, everything slowing down to a crawl. There was rapid gunfire – she saw Bane shudder with the impact, turn to the side as his body took the bullet. Sarah felt a building scream tear from her throat, and she dropped to the ground, crushing Tori to her. Something red hot slammed through her shoulder, and the scream of fear turned into a shriek of pain. Her whole arm burned, and she felt hot blood soaking the front of her shirt. The snow beneath her sucked the heat from her body greedily, but the nugget of burning pain remained in her shoulder.

Someone seized her by her long hair and flung her away from Bane, into the snow. Sarah felt Tori being torn from her arms, and she tried to bolt to her feet. "_Tori!_" She screamed. "_Tori, no!_"

The snow around her bloomed crimson from the blood seeping from her bullet wound. Everything was going murky, the pain was making her vision stutter. She couldn't see Tori, where was Tori?

And then the entire world exploded.

The warehouse that the rebels had been trapped in was consumed in flames, shards of steel and wood flying in all directions. A spar of wood, thick as her wrist, bludgeoned against her leg and her pain shot right off the scale. Whiteness flared behind her eyelids, and she blindly writhed in the snow as the pain in her leg and shoulder began to devour her. Her hearing was completely gone, the entire world was silent but strangely _hot_ – she could feel flames trying to eat away at the snow, and rapidly the ice beneath her turned to slush.

Was someone calling her name? She wasn't sure. The pain finally robbed her mind of all thought, and the whiteness surged, then faded to black.

* * *

_"Hold her still."_

_They were torturing her. She was strapped to a gurney, arms and legs bound helplessly, and she had a gag in her mouth. Bane was there, wearing a surgical mask over his black mask, clad in doctor's robes, and wielding a red-hot poker. Somehow she knew he was smiling, because those gray eyes were twinkling at her. He pressed the hot poker against her shoulder and started to bore in, digging into her flesh. For some reason she couldn't scream – nothing was coming from her throat no matter how hard she tried. _

_"Hold her still!" _

_The poker dug so deeply into her shoulder she was positive it was poking out the other side. _

_To her left was Tori, pinning her arms down with supernatural strength, looking at her with solemn brown eyes. _George's _eyes. She had a lurid smile on her face, greasepaint smeared over her cheeks, and she saw that her child's perfect lips had been scarred into a twisted smile. Tori grinned, then there was a change, and it was George pinning her down, all dressed up in the Joker's uniform. _

_"Hold her still!" _

"No!"

The scream finally erupted from her mouth, and she arched off the table. "Hold her still!" The mechanized voice roared, and she felt hands pinning her down onto the table. The red hot poker wasn't a poker at all, it was a pair of pliers, and there was a ghastly sucking sound as a small metal bullet was pulled from her flesh. Her eyes rolled wildly, and she clamped down on the inside of her cheek in order not to scream again. Bane was looming over her, examining her with those flinty eyes, and he turned to fetch some medical tape. She bucked, trying to free herself, but whoever was trying to hold her still had arms of steel. Something cold was spread onto the burning bullet wound, and it felt as though it were drawing poison out. Slowly, Sarah relaxed, letting the dull pain wash over her.

"Tori," Sarah croaked, not even fully conscious. "George, get Tori."

Barsad looked at Bane, the two of them sharing more in a glance than most people would in a conversation. He loved his general, and in some strange way, he knew that Bane loved him. But while Barsad trusted his master implicitly, he knew that there was a great divide between them. Helping him heal his wounded pets only deepened that divide; forever, Bane would be in his debt. Barsad released the sweaty, helpless mother as Bane tied off the bandage on her shoulder. They had already splinted her leg, and Bane determined already that it had been broken by the plank of wood.

"My lord," Barsad whispered, "Is that all you require of me?"

Bane wiped his hands with a cloth, checking over Sarah once more. "Yes, my brother," Bane murmured. "You have done very well."

Barsad glanced at his shirtless lord, the patch of medical gauze on his side obscuring the wound he had received. "Are you certain you are well?" He asked. Bane turned to him – it would have been a forbidden question from any of his other men, to question the health of their leader, but since it was Barsad he ignored it.

"Bring the girl," Bane said softly. "And then yes, that is all."

Barsad left and came back into the spacious apartment with Tori in his arms. The little girl had been sobbing for nearly an hour, but now that she could see her mother, she relaxed. Tori wriggled to get out of Barsad's grip, and hurried over to her mother. Sarah was laid out on a large butcher block table, her shirt cast aside carelessly, naked from the waist up. A swath of gauze was wrapped around her mother's shoulder, and on her left leg was a stiff white splint. Tori pressed her mother's hot hand against her cold cheek, and looked up at Bane with tear-blurred eyes. "Will she die?" Tori asked.

Bane considered for a moment. "No," He replied. "No, she will not die."

Tori looked at the patching on Bane's side. "Did you get hurt?" She asked.

"Yes. Detective Blake had to uphold his end of the bargain," Bane said quietly. His eyes might have been amused.

"Mr. Blake shot you?" Tori asked, and then put a small hand gently against the gauze on Bane's side. He didn't flinch, but grew strangely and perfectly still. "I thought he was nice," She whispered, looking up at Bane with hurt eyes. "Mommy said he was a nice man."

Bane said nothing, and watched as Tori climbed up onto the table and curled next to her injured mother. Sarah mumbled feverishly, turning back and forth, and Bane thought for a moment that he saw her warrior's spirit flare through. She was exceptionally beautiful in that moment, burned, broken and bleeding, with soot on her cheeks and blood caked in her hair. Tori closed her eyes, at peace next to her mother even if Sarah was completely unconscious. The two of them were linked together completely.

He looked down at Barsad. "Bring me Talia," Bane said. "And then you may go."

Barsad half-turned to leave, and then turned and impulsively embraced his lord lightly. His kissed both of Bane's cheeks, grasped his shoulders, and then left.

Bane sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, closed his eyes, and let the Venom flowing through his system take over his thinking.

* * *

_A/N: Okay, I FINALLY updated! *whew* I'm not sure about this chapter, guys. Please give me a little concrit and let me know how it turned out! Oh, and make sure you take a quick peek at my other story if you like the Joker!_


	8. Chapter 8: Cut Strings

**Chapter Eight: Cut Strings**

* * *

From that very moment to the day she died, it was the only time she had ever seen him asleep.

Directly across from her, leaning against the wall with his head tilted back and eyes closed, was Bane. His mask regulated the steady intake of breath, and Sarah saw for the first and last time how he looked when he was vulnerable. Even asleep, with his body armor cast aside, he was incredibly daunting. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, and his jacket was slung carelessly over his shoulders. His broad shoulders flexed with muscle, and his folded arms gave him a thickened appearance; from twenty feet away, she could see just how powerful someone could look while sleeping. The mask though, the mask wasn't asleep. It was watching her, omnipresent, making sure she didn't make a move.

How difficult would it be to kill him?

Sarah actually flinched, as though to move her arm or start to get out of bed, and the pain rocketed through her body. Her shoulder became a beehive of molten pain, and she felt the cast digging into her leg. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, gritting her molars against the pain, and Bane awoke with barely a start. Through a tangle of sweaty hair, she met his eyes and felt terror clench her heart. It looked as though he had never been asleep – his dark eyes were bright and alert, fully rested and completely conscious.

The little noise she made, half wounded sob, half terrified cry, broke the stillness in the room. A bundle of sheets next to her flailed automatically, and Tori began to whimper, unable to see her mother. Sarah rolled onto her back with great difficulty, and realized for the first time that she was in a bed – a real bed, with sheets and pillows. "Tori," She rasped, her voice insignificant and hoarse from exhaustion and screaming. "Baby, where are you?"

"Mommy?" Tori cried out, and crawled closer, snuggling next to her mother. Sarah heard Bane getting to his feet, and she struggled to keep ahold of her daughter and keep Bane in her line of sight. His combat boots thudded on the floor as he prowled next to her, every inch a powerful predator.

"Your leg is broken," Bane informed her, his deep voice broken due to the mask, "and you had a bullet in your shoulder. Your daughter is unharmed."

Stripped to the waist as he was, she saw that there was a large patch of gauze on Bane's side. Questions in her eyes, she looked at his wound and then back to his face. His gray eyes might have been amused, although he didn't comment. "Where..." Sarah's voice gave out completely, and she tried to swallow. Her mouth felt dry and papery. "Where are we?"

"Far from our previous location," He replied flatly, obviously not giving her a direct address. "The sparks of a rebellion have been crushed to ashes, and for the moment, we are safe."

He made it sound as though the _rebels_ were the people oppressing them, and not the other way around. Sarah clenched Tori to her, and tried to blink. With her eyes closed, it was easier to answer him, so she chose to stay blind for the moment. "They're not...the enemy," She said hoarsely and with great difficulty. "They just...just want their city back."

"They will have it," Bane said evenly, "when I have ensured that the purging is complete and it can sustain new growth."

Sarah wanted to answer; she wanted to say that a city full of living, breathing, thinking people wasn't the same as a field of wheat. She wanted to say that you couldn't just destroy something in order to suit your whimsy, but her voice was shot and the pain was beginning to blur the edges of her vision. She heard Bane leave her side, and shied away automatically when he approached.

Every muscle in her body froze when one massive palm slid beneath her snarled hair and tilted her head forward.

He felt her tense beneath him, and saw one of her small, weak hands rise up as if to bat him away. Smirking beneath his mask, he brought the bottle of water to her lips and dribbled in a precious few drops. Once she tasted the liquid, she began moving in earnest, dragging herself on one elbow and pawing for the water. A look from him was enough to make her sink back into the pillows and stay still, letting him manipulate her like a broken marionette. He had done this for countless soldiers, and all of them had done the same thing – they all looked directly into his eyes as they succumbed to his power, and every single one of them were fearfully grateful. It was no different with Sarah Reid; she swallowed the water greedily, but never relaxed when he was so close to her. Her brown eyes never left his.

It was uncharted territory – he never knew when she would deviate from his manipulation plans, and was wary when she followed his expectations. It certainly was a learning experience, although he learned the game before she even knew the rules.

When the water was gone, he stood and crumpled the plastic bottle with one hand, crushing it effortlessly between his big fingers. She watched his every move.

As he turned to leave, he heard Tori's high, thin voice call out, "Bane? Are you coming back?" She sounded almost fearful.

"In the evening," Bane responded, not turning to look at her. He pulled his heavy body armor on and buckled it around his waist.

"Be safe," Tori said quietly, a crease appearing between her brows. "Don't get shot again!"

Did she catch the subtle wince when he pulled on the armor? Bane certainly hoped not. She was far too perceptive for her own good, especially for a little girl.

* * *

Talia watched her old friend come in, his huge frame filling the doorway and blocking out all the light. Snow swirled around him before he quickly shut the door, and the dim lights cast him almost entirely in shadow. The flickering firelight threw strange, dancing patterns on the wall, and he drew close to the warmth to heat his hands. Talia pushed back the hood of her jacket, grasping his large cold hands with her small ones. "My friend," She whispered, looking up at him with affection in her eyes. Contrary to what most people thought, his eyes weren't black, but a dark gray that seemed to pick up different colors with what he wore. She would have liked to dress him in bold blues and dark greens; she knew that she could have commanded him to wear nothing at all and he would do it.

He loved her.

That, in itself, frightened her beyond belief and also gave her the most intoxicating sense of power. The fact that all his strength, all of his unstoppable determination was hers to command made everything hurt when she thought about it; her heart, most of all. He gripped her hands gently, always watching his strength with extraordinary care around her. Those hands, made for breaking and smashing and destroying, were delicate around her. Talia smiled with a disregard for the lump in her throat.

"How have you been, my old friend?" She asked, breaking their eye contact.

"The war on Gotham is simmering," He said softly. Talia remembered when his voice wasn't mechanized by the mask – how musical it was, understanding and undeniably Cockney. Now, he was a machine.

"Be careful of the rebellion," Talia cautioned. "A spark of hope breeds despair, but too much of it will start a flame and cause...difficulties. Don't be afraid to use a heavy hand when dealing out justice."

"We will be here long enough to restore justice," Bane promised her. "And I do not wish to completely destroy the rebellion. Let them run wild – the tether on their lives grows shorter every day. They will obey, or they will drive themselves mad."

Talia crossed the room and sat down at the table, pushing back her dark curls. There was enough food set for two, but she knew Bane wouldn't eat in front of her. He didn't eat in front of anybody, not even her. "John Blake informs me that you have two new playthings," She said, making sure her voice sounded normal. This was why she needed to talk to him – why had he taken these two captives? A mother and child, helpless and captive, and he was destroying them piece by piece. She didn't begrudge him entertainment, in fact she was pleased he had taken someone to toy with, but she needed to know why. She needed to know if she could still control him. Without him, everything would fall.

"A mother and child," Bane said, watching Talia eat with quick eyes. "I discovered them in the street and took them back with me. Do you disagree?"

"I am wondering why _them_ out of the millions of mothers and children," Talia said. "Why the significance?"

She watched him think, and it was more than a little disquieting to know that he didn't have a ready answer. "Redemption," He finally said.

"For what?"

Those gray eyes bored into her. "Your mother."

Flashes of images shot through her mind at those words – Bane never brought up her mother, nor why he had rescued her from the Pit. Talia didn't let it show on her face, although her mind's eye was full of her mother getting ripped apart by those jackals. "You do not need to redeem yourself," She told him – commanded him. "I do not blame you for her death."

"I blame myself."

"So you take these girls," Talia snapped, folding her arms, "and you keep them for yourself. Do you starve them? Beat them? Rape them? I do not think you give them any special treatment, Bane."

"Before they can be saved," Bane said deliberately, "They must be destroyed. With anything corrupted, it must be purged before anything can be built."

Talia took a deep breath, dropping her chin to her chest. "Tell me that you are not having second thoughts," She said. "Tell me that you are not reliving the past because you fear the future."

"I do not fear what I can change," Bane said, and stood. With Talia still sitting, the height difference between them was astronomical. "I will carry out your plan, for Gotham must be cleansed. But I shall not attempt to rewrite history." He stroked her hair, and felt her relax beneath his touch.

"Get rid of them." Talia's voice was clean and cold. "Get rid of _both_ of them."

* * *

_A/N: I'm having a tooth pulled tomorrow. O_O I'm completely terrified, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, waiting on an update, so I decided to write a little quickie to slake your nerves. ^^ _

_Please **review!** I haven't gotten nearly as many reviews as usual...is it something I did wrong? Please tell me so I can fix it_


	9. Chapter 9: Following Orders

**Chapter Nine: Following Orders**

* * *

Tori couldn't fall asleep. Her round, tiny face was crinkled in concern as she watched her mother's twitching and groaning. Twice, her mommy had screamed out loud, but no matter how hard Tori tried to wake her up, she stayed asleep. Somehow, the young girl felt as though if she fell asleep, her mommy would die. Tori wished she had a coloring book, or a TV, or her Bluey, but mostly she wished and wished that her mommy was awake to comfort her. Bane was gone, and he had been gone for hours now. There was a deep, gnawing hunger in her rumbling belly. Food had to be found, and soon.

Sniffing a little and wiping her eyes, Tori slid off the bed and padded towards the closed door. The room her mother was in was large, with a great big curtain covering one wall. Judging by the light creeping out from beneath it, the curtain was covering a window. The child took a step nearer the light, but the freezing floors soon drove her back towards the shadows. Her face scrunched in determination, Tori turned the doorknob slowly, trying to be quiet. In front of her, there was a short hallway, and a bathroom to the left.

Living so long in a war-ravaged Gotham, Tori knew when to take advantage of an opportunity. She peed in the toilet and washed her hands as best she could, since the sink was awfully high and there wasn't a stool for her to step on. Back at home, she had a little stool that was painted pink with bees on it. There was a big, funny looking tub with a shower curtain around it, and Tori pawed a tangled lock of hair out of her face. Maybe if Mommy woke up, they could take a bath. But Mommy's leg was in a big white cast, and Tori didn't want to make her mommy move anywhere.

Leaving further bathroom exploration for another time, she continued down the hallway and came upon a small living room and kitchen. There was a couch on its side, with the cushions strewn everywhere, and a big rug on the floor. It was colder here than in the bedroom, and Tori started shivering, her bare toes curling up against the floor. There was a stove and some counters and cabinets, and Tori opened every cabinet with the methodical motions of a child, looking for food. Everything had been cleaned out, but she found some stale old Cheerios in the back of one of the cabinets. She stuffed two of them in her mouth and saved three for Mommy. Three Cheerios wasn't a lot, but it was something.

She heard a door open, and turned around. Was Mommy awake?

Big black boots clunked against the floor, and she saw the towering figure of Bane step into the room. She froze, unsure whether or not he would punish her for being outside of the bedroom. But Bane looked unseeingly past her, and instead went over to the kitchen table to drop a bulging duffle bag on top of it. He unzipped it with a swift jerk and Tori heard the crinkle of cellophane. She perked up instantly and poked her head around the corner of the table, trying to see what he had gotten.

Bane appeared to notice her for the first time. Their eyes met, and there was something funny flickering in his eyes. Like he was mad. Tori wondered if he'd been drinking the Bad Stuff, like her daddy. "Did you get shot?" Tori asked finally, peering up at Bane as he unpacked the duffle bag. She saw pretzels, cereal, pancake mix, spaghetti all being unpacked, along with lots of doctor-type things, like gauze and bandages. Her mouth started to water.

"No," Bane said firmly.

_Get rid of them. Get rid of _both_ of them._

It was the first time he was seriously questioning an order from Talia. Was she questioning his loyalty to her? Wasn't this plan of Gotham's demise her idea, her plan? Hadn't carrying out her plans with no deviations whatsoever proved his loyalty enough? And hadn't he shown her, a hundred times before and a hundred times again, that he loved her and would continue to love her forever? Not the savage, lustful romance of his teens, but a long-standing romance that was as factual and written in stone as the ages long past. Why did she begrudge him some entertainment, some frolicking? And more than that, would she deny him the chance to save one mother when he could not save another?

He had not loved Talia's mother, not with the passion he loved Talia; but Talia loved her mother more than anything else in the world. He could see it in her eyes, in her stance and face and even the way she breathed; missing her mother was as much a part of her as her heartbeat. Beneath the cold exterior there was a young girl who had watched her mother beaten and broken, and had been helpless to stop it.

Beneath the hatred and coldness there was innocence and love. He had preserved her for that, had watched her as a babe; she had been wide-eyed and innocent, observing the darkness but not absorbing it. In the darkness, there was light, and his light had been Talia.

Bane finally focused once more and noticed that Tori had not moved. She was glancing at him, and then back to the bags of food. Why had he gotten all of these things, if he hadn't already unconsciously decided to keep Sarah and Tori? For his own preservation? Bane picked up a box of cereal and opened it, noticing that the young girl was watching his every move.

He needed to think, he couldn't be bothered with the little brat at the moment. He threw the girl a box of cereal and she accepted it greedily. Bane left the room and swept down the hallway towards the bedroom. Tori could manage herself, or she could choke, for all that he cared. Things needed to be thought out, and he needed space to do so. He opened the door to the bedroom and saw that Sarah was groggily awake.

"George," she mumbled, "you need to save Tori. Goddamnit, George, you need to stop..." she slurred off, and then twitched a few times. "...drinking, stop drinking...take some resp...responsibility..."

He sat at the edge of the bed and watched Sarah fight off her demons. The pain medication he had given her was most likely wearing off, and her rather traumatic experiences of the past few months were attributing to her nightmares and delusions. Talia couldn't possibly know this, the satisfaction of watching someone deteriorate. Because that meant that the phoenix was going to the ashes to be reborn. He had seen a glimpse of what he wanted Sarah to be the other night, when he had been taking the bullet out of her shoulder. Wild and strong, willful and protective as ever. A young tigress protecting her kitten, but she needed to know her boundaries first.

"...gonna hurt her..." Sarah trailed off again. "...gonna hurt her, George, you need to save us..."

_No one is going to save you,_ Bane thought, watching the feverish mother writhe in pain and demons. _No one is going to save you, because you are _mine_. _

* * *

He was there, sitting on the edge of her bed like some giant ever-watchful predator. Sarah cracked her eyes open and cringed away from him. Her mouth felt as though someone had stuffed it full of cotton balls, and her shoulder throbbed in time with her heart. Surprisingly, her leg didn't hurt – actually, she couldn't feel her leg at all. She looked down and saw it was in a stark white cast. She blinked and then rolled her eyes, testing the pain in her head. She was pretty clear, her head seemed fairly clean, but the pain was beginning to wear at her. More than pain though, was the overwhelming hunger.

"Where's Tori?" she muttered. It would be tempting to simply roll over and go back to sleep.

"In the kitchen," Bane said. Those black eyes seemed to be evaluating her. "I have orders to kill you."

The words filtered through her brain and then ricocheted back as raw panic. "Orders?" Sarah croaked. "Orders from who?"

He waved the question away. "I am questioning the order."

The idea of Bane – _Bane_, the master of everything, larger than the world, the one who held so many lives in his fist – being under the control of someone was both absurd and an opportunity. If he obeyed orders, then she could have someone to appeal to. Her mind was running in odd circles; if she could find his general, and write a petition, then maybe her daughter's life could be spared...

"Why?" Sarah finally said, because he seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Because I am not finished with either of you," Bane replied calmly. "I have not exacted my plans for you, and I do not wish to give you up."

"We're not toys," she rasped. "You can't just keep us like we're stuffed animals."

"You are mine to do whatever I please with," Bane retorted, getting to his feet. "And if I decide to follow my orders, as I rightfully should, you will die."

"I get it," Sarah said, closing her eyes. Tears were starting to prick her eyelids and she felt nauseous. "If I try to escape, I'll die. If I disobey you, Tori will die. If you follow your orders, then we both die. If I do anything I'll die, I know." She coughed weakly and reached up to wipe the spittle off her cheek. Her voice was choked, but she was too tired and felt herself slipping fast.

"If you disobey me, you will not die," Bane murmured. "Not quickly, at any rate."

* * *

When he came back to the kitchen, he reared back and looked with shock at the scene before him.

Talia was standing in the kitchen with Tori, washing the girl's hair in the sink. Tori was giggling at something – Bane had never heard the child giggle before – and Talia was actually smiling slightly. Tori's hair was full of white lather, and Talia looked up as she began to rinse the soap out of her hair. Bane caught a flash of her mood and realized with a deep, unacknowledged lurch that in another world, this could have been them. The three of them, a family, just sitting in a kitchen. But then the moment passed and he wondered acutely how Talia had found him, why she was here and bonding with his plaything.

"You do not care very well for your captives, Bane," Talia said quietly, wringing out Tori's hair and shutting off the water.

Bane said nothing, merely looked at her with dark gray eyes, eyes that were confused and angry. Talia patted Tori on the shoulder. "Go see your mother, _fillette,_" she ordered, and Tori left obediently. Once Tori had left, Talia took a step closer to Bane. "I am sorry," she said finally. "I fear I may have offended you, my best general, in ordering you to dispose of your playthings. I was only concerned when you mentioned my mother. I do not wish to see you lingering over the past, my friend, but now I see that they are not your redemption. They are merely a distraction. And that I do not worry about, since you could use some distraction."

She stroked his face then, feathering a touch just above the straps of his mask. He closed his eyes against her touch.

"You do not need to be redeemed," she whispered. "You are perfect, my friend."

"You were my redemption," Bane responded, opening his eyes. "You redeemed every man and slave in that prison. If one good thing could come from there, then the entire place does not have to burn. Just as these two are not my redemption, but Gotham's."

Talia smiled just a little. "I see that, my friend. I shall leave you to your toys. I shall stop by again, to see how you are, and to confer with my best of generals."

She was gone then, in a breath of quiet cold air. Bane watched the closed door and bowed his head.

It was the first time he had lied to Talia. Tori and Sarah were not Gotham's redemption.

They were Talia's.

He had rescued an innocent, precious child from the Pit. He had nearly died in the attempt to save her mother. And his sacrifice, his years of struggle and pain and torment, had meant nothing to the universe. Talia had not remained the young child he had rescued, she had turned away from the prism of light she had become and instead enveloped the blackness. He followed her down because there was no choice for him. Talia was everything.

If he could save one small child and one mother, then perhaps things would be right. Perhaps one day, she could live the life Talia had turned away from.

Bane exhaled. Perhaps it would be easier, then, to simply kill the mother and babe.

* * *

_A/N: Anyone miss me? :) Probably not, but I do wish to apologize for being away so long. There were complications with my toothsome expedition, and furthermore I had writer's block. So I'm a little rusty and out of practice, which leads to this chapter being a little...underwhelming. Oh well. I would love to see some reviews though, I do adore them so!_


	10. Chapter 10: The Eye of the Storm

**Chapter Ten: The Eye of the Storm**

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Sarah woke up, fully awake and brilliantly alert. Bane had fed her spaghetti, and it had been the most bizarre sight to see him standing in the doorway with a bowlful of pasta in his muscular hands. Sarah could feel the itchy prickle of the cast on her leg, and she swung herself out of bed very slowly and carefully. She had no idea how bad the break was on her leg – putting any weight on her leg would be painful, she was sure. But she needed to get out, to move, so she set her teeth tightly and tried to shift all her weight to the opposite leg.

Even being exceptionally careful, Sarah was drenched with sweat and her lower lip was swollen from biting it; her leg started throbbing, and she eased herself down in a stiff-backed chair on the opposite side of the room. She panted and let her splinted leg splay outwards, trying to catch her breath. She felt curiously weak, as though she had been sick for many weeks – her muscles quivered with her breathing, making her feel nauseous. Still, she had gotten out of bed, and she was proud of this fact. Tori was fast asleep on the floor, wrapped in a blanket and with pasta sauce still smeared on her cheeks.

There was a thick gray curtain over the wall, and the draft beneath her feet felt wonderful after her feverish nightmares. Already they were fading away, and she was grateful.

Reaching up, she pushed aside the curtain with some trepidation, wondering if it was covering an obscene message or a hole in the wall. Even in the dark, Sarah could see that the place had once been a posh, upscale apartment but had been reduced to bare walls by thieves.

However, the curtain wasn't concealing a wall. It was covering a window.

She sat there, stupefied, for the better part of five minutes trying to take it all in.

It had been so long since she'd seen out a window, never mind seen an awe-inspiring view like this one. If it had been daytime, and months ago before war had fallen on Gotham, the view would have been truly breathtaking. But right now it was sickening and fascinating all at once, staring out at the smoke-gauzed skyscrapers. She could see the pinpricks of muzzle fire in the streets, where skirmishes and battles were obviously being fought. There was a slight rumble, and a soft explosion lit up the upper corner of the window. That must have been on the east side – that could have been her apartment.

If they had stayed in her apartment instead of going out, they would never have been caught by Bane.

What did he want with them? Why them, out of all the thousands of women and children? Simply because they had crossed his path at the right moment? Sarah shuddered, remembering that night, where the gang had surrounded her. There had been only a few times she had been scared for her own life, and two of them had been due to Bane's men. Sarah drew in a ragged breath, trying not to think about when Bane had forced her to bathe in front of him, forced her to bare her soul in front of him. And that was all he had wanted – she had the feeling he could have cared less about her exposed skin. All he wanted was her humiliation.

He was a monster.

But she couldn't kill him, not in this state. How could she escape? Getting the two of them free would be nearly impossible, and even if she could miraculously get Tori out of here, where would her baby go? There was no true safe place in Gotham, and Tori wouldn't make it five minutes before being caught, murdered, or...She needed to stop thinking. But what was the other option? Stay here until Bane tired of them and snapped her neck like a chicken bone?

Sarah turned her mind off.

In college, she had fancied herself somewhat of an artist, and she wished she had stayed in school. It would have been worth it, just to learn how to paint the horrifying scene in front of her. The once beautiful towers of Gotham had been reduced to rubble and smashed windows; the skyline, which used to be full of glittering yellow lights, was almost completely dark. Anything glowing in the darkness was a target. But she couldn't paint it, even though she saw the smoky gray watercolors in her mind, intermingled with the rosy red and fiery oranges. In a different life, maybe – in a life where she hadn't gotten pregnant out of wedlock, hadn't married George Reid in a blind panic, hadn't done so many things wrong.

But in a different life, she wouldn't have Tori.

In a different life, Tori wouldn't be going through all this.

She stayed in the chair until dawn, trying not to think and failing miserably. Somehow, all of her mistakes and blind errors had led to the two of them being captives of a terrorist.

* * *

When she came out of a light doze, Bane was standing next to her with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the sun rise over Gotham.

"Beautiful, isn't it," he remarked in his smooth voice, instinctively knowing she was awake. She jumped, but only a little.

"Destruction?" Sarah asked, a bite in her sleepy voice.

"Rebirth."

She looked out on the scene and tried to see what he was seeing. How could he see something beautiful in all this, besides the odd attraction to things like train wrecks? But then she stopped trying to see with her mind and started trying to see with her eyes. It _could_ be beautiful, if she thought of it as a painting. Hadn't she been admiring it last night, thinking how the sunset streaked the smoke so beautifully, like a gritty impressionist piece of art? A necessary war, and for a split second she could see what he meant, about a purging being necessary.

But then it wasn't a painting, it was raw and real and full of frozen corpses.

"It's not rebirth," she said, her voice hoarse. "It's people dying and their children becoming orphans. It's their houses being burnt and their spouses being slaughtered." She twisted upwards to look at him momentarily, her eyes narrowed. "Does it ever bother you, Mr. Bane? Knowing that women and children are being raped and butchered because of _you_?"

She added venom in her voice that she didn't know she had, twisted the knife of her words in a way she hoped would hurt.

He was silent for a moment. "I take no pleasure in seeing innocent people killed," he responded evenly. "But I take great pride in seeing justice done. The people who survive this war will be strong and full of life. They will be the kind of people who are worth their lives."

"You believe life should be earned?" Sarah asked, coughing and muffling the sound with her thin wrist.

"Yes."

"Tori was an accident," Sarah said flatly. "She didn't earn her life. George and I considered having her aborted. So what do you think should happen to all the newborns in Gotham, Mr. Bane? Should they be forced to earn their lives?"

"Your daughter is a poor example," Bane said darkly. "And you know this. I am not one to deny the unusual, and your daughter is exceptionally brave for her age. She earned her life when she stood up for another's."

"People are standing up for the lives of others and they're getting shot," Sarah said, her voice rising with passion, "and nobody is giving a damn."

"The very same people have lied and cheated their way through life," Bane said. "One act of bravery does not erase an entire life of deception."

Sarah fell silent, too tired to argue. Why was she trying to debate a maniac? He held their lives in his fist, and yet he didn't seem to be rebuking her; he seemed to encourage their little arguments. She shot blindly and hoped it would get a rise out of him. "Who was that woman here yesterday?"

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw that her blind swing had hit something. He didn't move, but he didn't breathe either. The steady beat of his mechanical breathing hesitated for a noticeable second.

"A general of mine."

"Can you thank her for me? For washing Tori's hair? She made...a very good impression on her." When Bane didn't answer, Sarah pressed on, testing her weight on the ice. "I didn't know you recruited women in your army."

"I recruit whoever I deem worthy. There is a spot available for you, if you would simply lose the morals which blind your vision to the world."

The comment stung – it wasn't the first time Sarah had been told her morals and optimism were blinding her view of the world. "If you honestly think I would join you, you're more insane than I realized," Sarah hissed.

"Calm yourself," Bane said, sounding amused. "I offered the same to Detective Blake. Your incorruptibility is the very reason you would not take arms by my side, and also the precise reason I offer you that choice."

"How..." the words stuck in her throat. "How is Detective Blake? Is he...dead?"

"No. But the _children_ he recruited into his army have all perished."

Her heart sank to her stomach like a granite block.

"Does that make us so very different, Ms. Reid? At the very least, I make sure I recruit _men_ into my army. Not boys or the children you weep for."

Bane left her staring out the window at the ruins of Gotham with tears on her face.

* * *

Sarah came back from the bathroom with a determined look on her face, trying to overcome the pain and roiling nausea. Tori was on the floor with a new blanket wrapped around her shoulders, coloring in a Barbie coloring book with a small box of crayons spilled around her. The sight was so familiar and mundane that it took Sarah a split second to recognize why it was strange.

Where on earth did Tori get crayons and a coloring book?

She sat down on the edge of the bed and Tori looked up, looking fed and content for the first time in what seemed like eons. "Miss Talia is in the kitchen with Bane," Tori reported.

"Miss Talia?" Sarah asked, clothing her eyes. The pain was becoming a little more than she could handle; she forced it down mentally, picturing a box she could stuff her pain inside. Surprisingly, the image in her head worked for a moment, but when she opened her eyes the pain came back in a rush.

"Yeah. She got me crayons and a coloring book and some food. There's Goldfish on the, um, little table, do you want some?" Tori asked, gesturing to the nightstand.

Sarah feared that if she opened her mouth, she would vomit. "No, I'm...f-fine..." she whispered.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Tori cried, getting to her feet.

She smiled wearily, her eyes still closed. _Picture a box..._

"I'm fine, sweetie."

_All those boys. Dead. _

Tori's little hands patted her knee.

"Sarah, I presume?" It was an unfamiliar voice, one that forced Sarah's eyes open. Smooth and tinted with a vaguely French accent, definitely European.

"Y-yes..." she chattered. The muscles which had been quivering earlier twinged, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

"Take this," the woman said with remarkably efficiency, dropping two small yellow pills in Sarah's palm and giving her a bottle of water. Sarah downed both of them as best she could, but dribbled liquid down the front of her filthy sweatshirt.

The woman was beautiful, incredibly so. Wide, clear blue eyes and dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, with high cheekbones and a strongly featured face. She was gazing at Sarah with a focused gaze, as if watching her for an outbreak of symptoms. There was something unsettling about the steadiness in her eyes, and Sarah reminded herself that Talia was a general for Bane; a little insanity was necessary.

"Do you need anything? Clothes, food, more blankets?"

Was this woman honestly offering to help them?

Sarah realized the opportunity and seized it. "Uh...soap. Some shampoo, please. And some books. Oh, and some socks, maybe a change of clothes. And some paper, maybe? With some pencils?"

Talia got to her feet, unsmiling. "I'll see what I can do."

Sarah reached instinctively, her eyes going blind with desperation, and gripped Talia's wrist. "Please," Sarah whispered, "please, try and convince Bane to let my daughter go free."

There was something very odd in her eyes – confusion, maybe? "I'm not sure Bane will listen to me," the woman said with nearly a laugh. "In nearly every way, you are his. Even if he were to let you go free, neither of you would last long. The whole city knows that Bane is keeping two pets – they wouldn't let you live."

"Please, you _have_ to know –" Sarah begged, not really absorbing any of Talia's words. "You have to let my daughter go. There has to be some place in the city, any place that's still safe!"

"Believe me when I say this," Talia murmured, "you are safest while you are closest to Bane. In the eye of the storm, there is no sound."

* * *

When he went to change the bandage on her shoulder, she was amazingly still. He told her to take her shirt off, and she did so without blinking or registering the command. There was a dull, lifeless look in his captive's face, and as he snipped the gauze off her shoulder he couldn't help but notice that she was in some state of shock. It had been building up for days, and this was really the first time she had been able to sit still and think of her plight. After a few days of routine, she would be fine.

But she needed something to think about besides her daughter's life.

So after he had bandaged her shoulder, he settled on large, calloused hand on her uninjured upper arm, the touch surprisingly gentle. She jerked and looked up at him, some of the vapidity clearing from her face.

It cleared entirely when he stroked a single finger up her bare spine, making her excruciatingly aware of her nakedness, her vulnerable position, the fact that she was being taken care of by a terrorist.

He looked at her, making sure he had her full attention. Goosebumps were rising on her skin beneath his warm palm, and he smoothed a thumb across the nape of her neck.

The deep rasp was just in her ear, his voice a silken purr beneath the rough mechanical white noise.

"Never speak to Talia again."

* * *

_A/N: Dear me, this story is getting creepy! _

_The inclusion of Talia was a recent plot change, as I originally intended to not have her in the story at all; but it was simply getting dull with just Bane and the two girls for characters. Talia being added makes things much more interesting, and more character development for both Bane and Talia is always a good thing. :) I hope I revealed a bit about the kind of person Sarah is – I hoped to cover something in her personality besides just "eternal mother". I hope it came across all right – I wanted to show her as a bit of an idealist before she got married, but after being married to an alcoholic and a teenage pregnancy statistic, she's changed quite a bit. I hope to get into some more of her backstory in upcoming chapters. _

_Thank you for all of your lovely reviews once more! I so enjoy reading them – they make my whole day, truly. :)_


	11. Chapter 11: Bowing a Mountain

**Chapter Eleven: Bowing a Mountain**

* * *

"Can I go with you?"

He looked down at the small girl between his feet, who was looking up at him with round eyes speckled with curiosity. The girl was understandably bored; Bane had discovered the coloring book under the bed, every page filled in. For a six year old, she was methodical about filling in the lines but had burned through the whole thing quickly. Other scraps of paper had been doodled on, and Bane had come across a picture of himself stuck on the bulletin board in the kitchen, next to his maps. Tori had drawn him as a tall rectangle with sausage arms and a round black head. Cartoonishly, she had reduced him to his basic elements – strength, and the mask.

Bane stroked her head, feeling the soft brown curls beneath the pads of his fingers. She leaned away from him, but didn't step back.

My, but she was a remarkably brave little thing.

"Yes," he said finally. "You may come with me."

There was childish pleasure on her face, and she grinned, exposing baby teeth. She was tired of being cooped up in the apartment, tired of staying on the floor and coloring. It was very early in the morning, and the sun had not yet risen, so the chill was still in the air. Tori pulled on a large gray sweatshirt Talia had brought and rolled up the sleeves clumsily. Bane came over to her with a Glock in his hand, the heavy black handgun loaded and menacing.

He knelt next to her, looking her straight in the eye. She never looked at him directly, but always stared at his mask as though it would leap off his face and bite her.

"If you try to run away," Bane said quietly beneath a rush of static, "I will shoot you. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

Bane stood up and went down the hallway without another word. She followed behind him like a well-trained dog. He pushed open the door to the bedroom where Sarah was, and saw that she was awake, sitting in the chair and looking out the picture window again. It had been three days since he had changed her bandages, and since that encounter she had been looking at him strangely, not questioning but trying to say something. She was trying to figure him out; Bane delighted in making himself appear complicated to his captives.

"We will be back at sunset," Bane said flatly. Sarah jerked, turning to face them with fear scrawled on her features.

"Why? What did I do?" she cried, starting to get up. Bane gripped the thick straps of his armor and decided to let Tori answer that question.

The little girl, clad in a new sweatshirt and jacket that nearly fit, hurried up to her mother. She kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, "I wanna go see our home, Mommy, okay? It's okay, Bane will protect me."

_It's okay, Bane will protect me._

The words rolled in Sarah's head like a cannonball.

How could her daughter put so much faith in a monster?

Sarah lifted her head, pushing back her freshly-washed hair, and looked Bane squarely in the face. "Mr. Bane, bring my daughter back," she said firmly. Inwardly, she was trembling fiercely.

"That depends upon the actions of your daughter," Bane replied, and beckoned Tori over to him. The little girl nodded at her mother, and then willingly followed her captor out the door.

Sarah sat up in the chair. "Let me come with you!" she called, but it was no use; the door shut behind them. Sarah wiped her eyes and tried not to let the tears fall. Had it really only been a few days since Tori had been rescued from the ice? And already, she was following him around as though he were her father? It was the first time she didn't know what was going in on Tori's head.

And it was this thought, more than anything else, that made her start to cry. She hugged her ribs very gently and let the tears patter onto her broken leg.

* * *

It was late morning when Sarah roused herself. The sunlight slanting through the window warmed her bones and made her doze, but a sudden nearby shower of gunfire jolted her awake and back to her senses. As quickly as her broken limb would allow, she pinned the curtain back in place and them limped into the other room, still unsteady on her broken leg. By gripping the corners and sticking to the edges of the room, she managed to get to the kitchen without falling. Inside there were maps tacked to all four walls, and cardboard taped neatly over the windows. Not an inch of space was wasted. The counters were clean and so were the cabinets, although one of them was hanging off its hinge. The ransackers had not been gentle to the apartment.

She found cold pancakes in the refrigerator and ate them without warming them; there was a toaster but no microwave, and the toaster looked as though it had seen better days. Obviously something rummaged out of the trash. Sarah swallowed the leaden lumps of dough and felt them sink into her stomach along with the weight of fear.

Bane had better protect her daughter.

Her eyes roved over the kitchen table as though she was looking for something; unseeingly, she settled on a corner of the map. It was bulged upwards in a peculiar way, although it took her a moment or two to recognize why.

There was a knife beneath the map. The fear in her stomach was wiped away by a hot prickle of exhilaration. And then the fear was back.

Was it a test? Had he deliberately left it there to see whether or not she would take it? Sarah unconsciously wiped her hands on her jeans as though shaking off the very memory of stealing the knife. But taking the knife would be an insurance policy. She couldn't kill Bane with her bare hands, and couldn't make an escape attempt with a broken cabinet hinge. And she would have use for the knife if...

If something happened to Tori while she was with Bane.

With that thought in mind, she slipped the knife into her cast and limped away as quickly as she could.

It was a good thing she did, because just as she sat down in her chair by the window, the door opened. The sound of sensible high heels clicking across the hardwood floors hit her ears, and Sarah remembered Talia. But Bane had told her not to speak to Talia. The memory of his hands, big and terrifyingly close, skimming up her spine send shudders across her skin. Instantly the nausea was back, and she folded her hands across her stomach.

A sheaf of dark brown hair hid Talia's eyes as she stepped into the bedroom. There was a crease between her brows as she scanned the mostly empty room, and then finally spoke. "Are you here by yourself?" she asked, setting down the canvas bag full of supplies. Had Bane honestly been so foolhardy as to leave his captive by herself? Broken leg or not, that was a serious lapse in judgment. A bad feeling tickled the corner of her mind, and she pushed it away. Was her most prized general, her most trusted ally, finally losing his mind? Did he want his captives to escape? Was he tired of them?

More importantly, where was the girl?

Sarah didn't speak, and Talia eyed her. "What happened?" Talia tried again. Had she gone mute?

The woman threw her a look, pleading and afraid, and Talia knew that she had acted up in some way. Bane must be punishing her. "Has he forbidden you to speak to me?" Talia asked, and from the expression on Sarah's face, she was correct. "Well. That is no problem. You can speak to me as you wish, I shall not inform Bane."

And she still didn't speak.

Even in her irritation, Talia was proud of Bane for instilling such obedience in his captives. "Has he taken your daughter, then?" she goaded, trying to get a reaction out of the mother. Her hands curled into fists, and she turned back towards the window; Talia thought she heard a sniff. "I brought you some books," Talia tried a different tactic. "There are not many left, but I tried to find the thickest."

Behind the glassy layer of tears, she could see the gratefulness in Sarah's eyes.

Talia wanted to study the mother. Bane had taken the girl away then, and left the mother alone. For what purpose? And why had he forbidden his captive to speak to her? "I shall not tell Bane," Talia repeated. "He has no way of knowing."

The look in Talia's eyes was familiar. _Let us keep a secret, you and I, _the look said. _Let us be two women for a moment, two women sharing a secret._

"I don't know where they went," Sarah said finally, her voice cracking a little. "Tori...my daughter...she said she wanted to go back to our old apartment. So she went with Bane."

An unnatural twinge of jealousy went through Talia. Again, Bane was escorting a young girl around a dangerous area, most likely protecting her from danger. She used to be that child. But she couldn't dwell on that, and instead pushed on. "He will keep her safe, you know," Talia said. "For all of his strength, Bane can be...quite gentle."

"Uh huh," Sarah muttered, looking away. Her mind flashed back onto the memory of his hands – gentle, caressing, and yet totally alien. The idea of him stroking her bare back in such an intimate manner was repulsive.

Talia narrowed her eyes, and then felt relief break over her in an icy sheet. "Has he forced himself on you, then?" she asked soothingly, ever the protective ally, but inwardly she was beaming. It was just sex then – she had encouraged Bane to take women in the past, to slake the worst of his thirst, and he had always followed her advice. But he had surprised her by taking a pair, his tastes did not run towards young girls. The daughter must have been a coincidence, nothing more. She could deal with sex, she could deal with Bane's lies, because they were hollow lies. He was merely manipulating the emotions of his bed partner.

That, Talia could handle. She was familiar with sex – it was a powerful and useful tool.

"No," Sarah laughed, roughly and bitterly. "No, he was changing the bandage on my shoulder when he..." she cleared her throat, and gestured behind her. "Touched my back. Stroked it, like I was a dog or something."

This made Talia suspicious. He was seducing her then? Giving her something else to think about besides their captivity? Ah, Stockholm Syndrome. He wanted double insurance; he wanted them unable to leave, not only physically but emotionally. Again her pride soared – truly, her general was the best among men.

"He is not a violent man," Talia said.

"Not a violent man?" Sarah snapped, and Talia noticed with cool detachment that the woman was filled to the brim with anger – no, not anger. Rage. "_Not a violent man? _Do you have any idea what you're _saying_? He's killed people, snapped their necks and broken their bones! He's enslaved an entire city and held them all captives! He's killed innocent boys, little boys, and children! He's a...he's a monster! A sick, twisted, son of a _bitch_!"

Talia waited patiently until the outburst had subsided. "He is a gentle man. Circumstances have made him who he is."

"That's bullshit," Sarah said fiercely, her voice quavering beneath tears and anger. "If he's gentle, it's just another ploy. I don't trust him around my daughter, and if he tries to hurt her, I'll kill him." She met Talia's eyes unwaveringly.

_Oh, my dear friend,_ Talia thought to herself. _You have so much to do before this little bird's wings can be broken. _

"What about when he's around you?" Talia queried, tilting her head like an elegant feline. "Has he ever hurt you?"

Sarah went quiet.

"And what about your daughter? Has he injured her?"

"If he hasn't yet..." Sarah said lowly, "then he will. He's not...I mean, he's...he's a _terrorist_." She looked up at Talia. "So are you."

She appeared to be considering this. "Have you ever had a job?" Talia wanted to know. She gestured with her palms, balancing something like she was the Scales of Justice. "You should know that occupations are only titles. They do not define a person. If you label yourself, then you open yourself up to scrutiny and misjudgment."

"That's all this is to you people?" Sarah spat, heavy with venom. "A job?"

"Someone must clean a city," Talia said frankly. "Someone must dirty their hands and be willing to face the fire."

"How did he drag you into this?" Sarah asked sharply. "Do you honestly believe in killing a city full of women and children? Has he really brainwashed you that much?"

Talia was a superb actress, but at that statement she could not hold back a titter. Thankfully, she turned it into a cough. This woman was so disillusioned, so obtuse and shooting blindly in the dark. It would be kinder to enlighten her – kinder to let her know who was truly pulling the strings. "Bane did not brainwash me, you silly girl," Talia said. Her smile was a shard of ice. "He would do anything for me. He's nothing more than a tool, my dear, a very powerful and loyal tool. He _raised_ me."

Sarah's expression was really quite amusing – she was staring at her like a dead fish.

"Purging Gotham was never his idea," Talia continued. "He would have gone along, frustrated and alone, unless I came and gave him purpose. Gave him clarity. He raised me, and in return, I molded him."

The idea of Bane being subservient to anyone – to _Talia_, a _woman_, no less – was both absurd and impossible. Bane was a mountain, a man of unfeeling, uncaring muscles and raw rage and the ability to kill anyone at any time. He did not bow to anything; mountains didn't bow to winds, no matter how loudly they howled.

And yet there was so much smug truth in Talia's eyes.

"You...?" Sarah stared at her. "You're the one trying to destroy Gotham?"

Talia checked her watch. "Yes. And now, my dear, I do believe you've had enough instruction for the day." She stood and raised her eyebrows. "There are food and books in the bag, if you desire them."

Sarah had the sudden urge to pluck the knife out of her cast and send it thudding into Talia's back. Right between her shoulder blades. But she couldn't move, her mind was still reeling and trying to comprehend.

"_Wait_!"

Talia paused at the doorway.

"Tell Bane to let my daughter go free." Sarah said. This was the person commanding Bane, and she remembered her delirious thoughts of petitioning for her daughter's release.

"I don't think so," Talia mused, "You see, where would your daughter go? And my general has already proven himself reluctant to obey orders concerning you. And I am now reluctant to give them. He can do as he wishes with you two, I will not stop him."

"You're the one who ordered him to kill us?" Sarah asked, her eyes huge and frightened.

There was a look of surprise on Talia's beautiful face. "Yes. I thought you two would be a unnecessary distraction. But now that I have seen you are nothing more than a woman to fuck and a brat to abandon, I think you two are minimal threats."

Sarah couldn't think of a thing to say, and she watched dumbly as Talia walked out the door, every inch the supreme conquering hero.

* * *

Tori hugged Bluey close to her chest, feeling more content than she had in months. The snow had slackened off, and the weak winter sun was trying its best to warm her chilled hands. Bane loomed over her, carrying a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, full of supplies from their house. The apartment hadn't been touched, although the building next to it had been blown up. Tori had picked through the rubble, trying not to scrape herself on the twisted pieces of metal, while Bane merely stepped over piles of charred bricks.

"Thank you for letting me get Bluey," Tori said. Bane glanced down at her, amused. She took pleasure in such odd things. And yet he knew the sentimental attachment of a stuffed bear – for him, it represented a simpler time. No doubt there would be a time in Tori's life where she looked at the cheap blue bear and thought the same thing.

That is, if she lived through this time in her life.

They continued walking down the street, and Tori looked up at Bane's enormous, careless hand. Everything about him was coiled danger, except that hand. The very hand that broke that man's neck, that very hand that tied up her Mommy and left her alone.

But it was also the same hand that saved her from the ice.

The last time she had tried to hold her daddy's hand, he jerked away from her as though she pinched him. He had been drinking the Bad Stuff then, and his hands shook and his eyes were watery; he had given her the funniest look, and then kept walking. Tori had gone home and sung to Bluey Bear until she felt better.

So she didn't reach for Bane's hand. She wasn't sure if he would break her neck or flinch away, so she kept the space between them intact.

Bane stopped, and the hand she had been watching turned into a fist, halting her.

The back of his neck prickled. There had been a crunch in the rubble, the sound of tiny rocks being ground against pavement. Bane didn't move at first, the two of them just stood in the street, waiting.

_Rat-ta-tat-ta-ta-tat!_

A wild burst of gunfire cracked across the street and Bane hurled Tori to the pavement. He felt the impact of the bullets in his lower back, but the pain didn't flare into his mind; years of being on Venom and he had never gotten used to the feeling. He waited and then scooped up the little girl, pressing her against his side. She was screaming, burrowing her head into the crook of his elbow and hanging onto her bear for dear life.

Then the skirmish started.

He dropped her, yanked the shotgun off his back and pulled back both barrels. He blew a hole into the torso of a very young woman, who fell on the sidewalk, already dead.

_Ra-ta-tat-tat-ta!_

They rushed him, but with one powerful twist he broke the neck of one and splinted the shins of another. He sent the butt of the shotgun crashing down and he caved in the skull of an older man with yellowed teeth.

"Bane! _Baaaaaane!" _

Tori was sobbing, howling, trying to twist out of the arms of John Blake. The man was holding the child as best he could, but she was putting up quite the fight.

Bane glared at her, eyes blazing, and sent his knuckles crushing through the face of a teenaged boy. He couldn't fight for his life and get Tori at the same time – a wild animalistic urge bolted through him, and picked up the body of an older woman and physically threw her into the remaining crowd.

It had been a sting. Just as quickly as they had come, they were gone. Corpses were strewn around him; in five minutes, he had killed seven people with incredible efficiency. Breathing hard, his dark eyes glared at the car swerving down the road, no doubt holding John Blake and his little girl.

Her bear lay in the road, dirty and bloody beneath the leg of the gut-holed teenager.

Wordlessly, he scooped it up and took off after the car in a flat-out sprint.

* * *

_A/N: OH DEAR LAWD ITS DONE. _

_This was a bear of a chapter to write. It seems so awful to me now that I'm rereading it, everything's so jumbled and messy and the only thing I really like is that last action scene with Bane and Tori. _

_I want to thank you all for your reviews; I'm taking four full-credit courses this summer for the first time, and I just don't have the time to personally respond to each one. I do, however, read every single one and I completely adore them. :) So please, by all means, keep them coming!_

_This chapter is also indirectly dedicated to **batmanbane**, who has been dexterously nudging me (or unconsciously nudging me, I don't know) towards making this a Bane/OC romance story. Looking over the previous chapters, it does kind of seem like it's aiming that way. Which is hilarious, since this story was originally written in protest against the sappy Bane/OCs. But after reading the beautifully written _She Rises_, and reading batmanbane's comments, I'm kind of weakening. _

_That doesn't mean this _is_ going to turn into a romance. I'm just considering it. :) Any thoughts on this?_


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